Posted on 11/11/2017 2:30:15 PM PST by mairdie
My father wrote quite a lot of army poetry and I'm wondering if other people had family members who did, as well.
I sing my song with a painted mouth
And staccato, blazing breath;
The Jezebel of the Armies,
The Painted Lady of Death!
Born in the flow of the molten steel,
Baptised in flaming oil,
Cursed by the world ere I saw the light
And went forth to my toil;
Pride of my many lovers
My deep-voiced, fighting men.
Caressed as my kisses took their toll
From my steel ringed, concrete den:
Faithless and lovely always
Denying my love in his need,
Giving myself to the strongest hand
While my cast off lovers bleed.
My curious task is ended,
And couched on a wooden bed
I lie and gaze on the passing throng
And muse on my lovers - dead.
I sing my song with a painted mouth
And staccato, blazing breath:
The Jezebel of the Armies,
The Painted Lady of Death!
**************
THE CONVENT OF THE GUNS
Our clean curved mouths are cold and dead
Our polished skin is marred
Our tawny thighs are thick with dirt,
Dented, cut and scarred.
Our day is done!
But once -
Our open mouths blazed death's caress
Our tongues with steel were tipped!
Ah! bitter spinsters were we then
As we slashed and cut and ripped.
Our youth was filled with lovers,
All laughing, joyouts boys
Who stroked our slim, proud beauty,
Their latest, deadly toys.
Then clean and fresh and polished
We went forth with the Dead.
The living, lovely, happy lads
Whose last touch dyed us red.
Then supplanted like all harlots
By the newer, fresher one
We turned to rest and quiet
As our kind has always done.
With a printed tag about our throats
To inform our lovers' sons.
We're an Ordnance Exhibition
The Convent of Guns.
**************
OLD SOLDIERS' DRUMS
I'm just too old for drilling
I can't hike anymore;
So I'm bound for the soldiers' graveyard
Behind an office door.
They sing - "Old soldiers never die."
We don't; we live on crumbs -
The shrilling, splendid bugles
An' the thunder of the drums!
I won't do Guard in a snowstorm
An' I won't hafta go an' fire;
It's just messin' around an office
An' waiting to retire.
"Approved per First Indorsement ..."
An' through the window comes
The music of a Guardmount
An' the cadenced, throbbin' drums!
Twenty-three and a butt in the Doughboys;
Why, I've hiked a million miles!
But they said my age couldn't stand it
An' they detailed me to the files!
This work is nice for some men
Who can take it as it comes.
But you know their hearts ain't achin'
For the pullin', poundin' drums!
D.S. 1/4C. an' a non-combatant!
When there's guys tha'd give their life
To piddle around an office
An' go home at night to the wife.
But I'll get back to formation;
There's a day that always comes:
An' I'll ride on a painted cassion
With the muffled, sobbin' drums!
**************
ZERO HOUR
Grey stars agleam in a blank, dead sky
Grey guns agrowl below.
Grey clad men out beyond the wire
Grey fields in the star-shells' glow.
The barrage is a pounding symphony
That ears attuned cannot hear.
There's something flicking the parapet
There's something above you fear!
Not fear of "stopping one" above,
Or fear for the man beside.
There's something flicking the parapet
There's a fear you cannot hide.
"Stand by!" The rifle is cool in your hand
And your heart pounds hard and quick.
There's something flicking the parapet
Number Three of the squad is sick.
The rifle hurts the palm of your hand
Like gripping a stiff, wire brush
There's something flicking the parapet
"Walk slow through the wire, then rush!"
The whistle! The ladders! Up over the edge!
And your legs seem stiff and sore.
There's something flicking the parapet
Number Three is sick no more!
Grey stars agleam in a blank, dead sky
Grey guns agrowl below.
Grey faces turned to the glowing stars
Where men lie dead in a row.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
I LOVE that one! Thank you.
by Robert Leckie
A helmet for my pillow,
A poncho for my bed, My rifle rests across my chest- The stars swing overhead.
The whisper of the kunai, The murmur of the sea, The sighing palm and night so calm Betray no enemy.
Hear! river bank so silent You men who sleep around That foreign scream across the stream- Up! Fire at the sound!
Sweeping over the sandspit That blocks the Tenaru With Banzai-boast a mushroomed host Vows to destroy our few.
Into your holes and gunpits! Kill them with rifles and knives! Feed them with lead until they are dead- And widowed are their wives.
Sons of the mothers who gave you Honor and gift of birth Strike with the knife till blood and life Run out upon the earth.
Marines, keep faith with your glory Keep to your trembling hole. Intruder feel of Nippon steel Can't penetrate your soul.
Closing, they charge all howling Their breasts all targets large. The gun must shake, the bullets make A slaughter of their charge.
Red are the flashing tracers, Yellow the bursting shells. Hoarse is the cry of men who die Shrill are the woundeds' yells.
God, how the night reels stricken! She shrieks with orange spark. The mortar's lash and cannon's crash Have crucified the dark.
Falling, the faltering foemen Beneath our guns lie heaped. By greenish glare of rocket's flare We see the harvest reaped.
Now has the first fierce onslaught Been broken and hammered back. Hammered and hit, from hole and pit- We rise up to attack!
Day bursts pale from a gun tube, The gibbering night has fled. By light of dawn the foe has drawn A line behind his dead.
Our tanks clank in behind him, Our riflemen move out. Their hearts have met our bayonet- It's ended wit a shout.
"Cease fire!" -the words go ringing, Over the heaps of the slain. The battle's won, the Rising Sun Lies riddled on the plain.
St. Michael, angel of battle We praise you to God on high. The foe you gave was strong and brave And unafraid to die.
Speak to the Lord for our comrades, Killed when the battle seemed lost. They went to meet a bright defeat- The hero's holocaust.
False is the vaunt of the victor, Empty our living pride. For those who fell there is no hell- Not for the brave who died. .
The Iliad but it is too long to post.
How about an excerpt???
My nephew is a Marine. Happy Birthday to the Corps.
wonderful. thanks for sharing these.
My grandfather was a poet. In 1918 he published a book of poetry called Poems in Oil. As you might think it had a lot of poems about the oil fields. He lived in Oklahoma. But there were also a lot of poems about WWI. We recently moved and I’m looking all over the house for that book. We have several copies. When I find it, I’ll type up some of his war poems. You might consider sending the poems you shared with the WWI museum in Kansas City. My brother Dennis Cross, is a docent. Give them a call.
If I find that book I’ll ping you.
Oh, please, Mercat. I would absolutely love to read his poetry. Drives me crazy when I lose family things. I’m still trying to find the big box of photographs.
Thanks for the suggestion about the WWI museum. I didn’t know about it.
I was a docent for a while for the Oriental Institute in Chicago, and a girlfriend is now docenting for a quilt museum. It’s a really fun thing to do.
Up, up the long delirious12, burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights13 with easy grace, Where never lark, or even eagle14 flew; And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sancti/ty of space15, Put out my hand16, and touched the face of God.
1. Pilots must insure that all surly bonds have been slipped entirely before aircraft taxi or flight is attempted.
2. During periods of severe sky dancing, crew and passengers must keep seatbelts fastened. Crew should wear shoulderbelts as provided.
3. Sunward climbs must not exceed the maximum permitted aircraft ceiling.
4. Passenger aircraft are prohibited from joining the tumbling mirth.
5. Pilots flying through sun-split clouds under VFR conditions must comply with all applicable minimum clearances.
6. Do not perform these hundred things in front of Federal Aviation Administration inspectors.
7. Wheeling, soaring, and swinging will not be attempted except in aircraft rated for such activities and within utility class weight limits.
8. Be advised that sunlit silence will occur only when a major engine malfunction has occurred.
9. "Hov'ring there" will constitute a highly reliable signal that a flight emergency is imminent.
10. Forecasts of shouting winds are available from the local FSS. Encounters with unexpected shouting winds should be reported by pilots.
11. Forecasts of shouting winds are available from the local FSS. Encounters with unexpected shouting winds should be reported by pilots.
12. Pilots flinging eager craft through footless halls of air are reminded that they alone are responsible for maintaining separation from other eager craft.
13. Should any crewmember or passenger experience delirium while in the burning blue, submit an irregularity report upon flight termination.
14. Windswept heights will be topped by a minimum of 1,000 feet to maintain VFR minimum separations.
15. Aircraft engine ingestion of, or impact with, larks or eagles should be reported to the FAA and the appropriate aircraft maintenance facility.
16. Aircraft operating in the high untresspassed sanctity of space must remain in IFR flight regardless of meteorlogical conditions and visibility.
17. Pilots and passengers are reminded that opening doors or windows in order to touch the face of God may result in loss of cabin pressure.
The poem is "High Flight", by 19-year-old American airman John Gillespie Magee, Jr., written in 1941 in England while serving with the Royal Canadian Air Force, shortly before his death.
“Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country’s cause. ”
Homer.
I LOVE this poem and have NEVER seen the FAA Supplement. A thousand thanks for sharing it. One of the best poems EVER!!!
Really good choice. Beautiful.
bump
thanks Mardie
You’re most welcome, smoking. Might you have some favorite poetry, too?
Decoration Day
Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest
On this Field of the Grounded Arms,
Where foes no more molest,
Nor sentry’s shot alarms!
Ye have slept on the ground before,
And started to your feet
At the cannon’s sudden roar,
Or the drum’s redoubling beat.
But in this camp of Death
No sound your slumber breaks;
Here is no fevered breath,
No wound that bleeds and aches.
All is repose and peace,
Untrampled lies the sod;
The shouts of battle cease,
It is the Truce of God!
Rest, comrades, rest and sleep!
The thoughts of men shall be
As sentinels to keep
Your rest from danger free.
Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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