In Flanders Fields

John McCrae | 1915 | John McCrae

[Clive]

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.

[Clive]

Today is Remembrance Day

[Clive]

-

[Clive]

-

[Tennessee_Bob]

John Mitchell
Reply to Flanders Fields

Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below.
Your are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We'll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom's cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

[Tennessee_Bob]

We Shall Keep the Faith

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet - to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.

[Tennessee_Bob]

Another Reply To In Flanders Fields

-- by J. A. Armstrong

In Flanders Fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
In Flanders Fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.
Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
In Flanders Fields.

[blam]

God Bless Their Souls

[drjoe]

At the risk of offending the readership, this Vietnam Veteran offers the following:

"It is well that war is so terrible, lest we grow too fond of it."
- Robert E. Lee

and:

Anthem for Doomed Youth (1917)
Wilfred Owen,

What passing bells for those who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in the eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

[mhking]

[advocate10]

That's Okay, Taxpayers. We Understand We Are Not Needed Anymore.

America's Disabled Veterans.

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

Dulce et Decorum est
by: Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori------

On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month the Armistace is signed in The War to End All Wars

[damncat]

---

...And give a little thought to those that made it all possible...
(Run your cursor over the flag as if to copy)
============================================================
In Flanders fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place;
===================================
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWAnd in the sky the larks, still bravely singing,
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWFly scarce heard amid the guns below.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWWe are the Dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn,
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
saw sunset glow, loved, and were loved, and now we lie in Flanders fields...Take up our
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
Quarrel with the foe: to you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
If ye break faith with us who die we shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders fields.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
===================================

============================================================<p

[stinkypew]

We made a mistake getting into that war. The Germans were right to fear encirclement by France and Russia, and the Austrians certainly had a valid cause for war with Serbia. After all, when our sovereign territory was violated around the same time by Villa, we sent troops into Mexico. Hell, we occupied Vera Cruz, if I'm not mistaken, merely because the Mexicans insulted our flag.

The Russians caused WWI by mobilizing. The Germans were to blame for bringing the French in, which they had to do because they had only one war plan, but there is no way the French would have simply stood by while the Germans and Austrians fought the Russians.

As to Belgium, the British and French had their own plans for moving into Belgian territory and probably would have executed them if the Germans hadn't invaded first.

It's not black and white, but the Germans definitely don't deserve the rap they get for WWI.

[Eternal_Bear]

Ah, the War to end all Wars! WWI signalled the decline and demoralization of Western Civilization. It led to the rise of Communism and Fascism. We are still living with it's consequences.

[Broker]

"Germans definitely don't deserve the rap they get for WWI."

This post is the same line of logic swallowed by Chamberlain and his crowd in the 1930's. They believed the Germans were the victems. Today we refer to such logic as dumb and dumber. Eat a weiner.

[AnAmericanMother]

Gethsemane

THE Garden called Gethsemane
In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
The English soldiers pass,

We used to pass—we used to pass
Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,
It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
I prayed my cup might pass.

The officer sat on the chair,
The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass—it didn’t pass—
It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
Beyond Gethsemane.

- Rudyard Kipling (1919)

[JohnGalt]

In deed, the neo-cons have cause to argue as the Germans and Austrians were fighting a 'pre-emptive war.'

God bless the last of the warrior poets, their lives extinguished on the Western Front, 1914-1918.

[Snowyman]

This was my brother
At Dieppe.
Quietly a hero
Who gave his life
Like a gift.
Withholding nothing.
His youth ... his love ...
His enjoyment of being alive ...
His future, like a book
With half the pages still uncut -
This was my brother
At Dieppe ...
The one who built me a doll house
When I was seven,
Complete to the last small picture frame,
Nothing forgotten.
He was awfully good at fixing things,
At stepping into the breach when he was needed.
That's what he did at Dieppe.
He was needed.

And even death must have been a little ashamed
At his eagerness.

Mona Gould

[JohnGalt]

I wrote this on Hill 60, a hot spot for activity along the 3 mile Ypres Salient, about 2 miles from Flanders Field and Passchendaele, where my Great Uncle fought.

The Last on Hill 60 of the Western Front, Ypres, Belgium
--'JohnGalt' July 17, 1996

It’s not the sound of long knives I hear
But rather the sound of boys and their fear
For in Ypres they run in the wind
No metals for their chests need to be pinned
A three-mile bulge on the Western Front did lay
Half a million warrior-poets died in the fray

On a pock marked hill, I erected my tent
And prayed for the moms and the boys they sent
I prayed for the Gurkahs and even the French
Who came to this land to die in a trench
I toasted souls, Germans and English, my age
I drank cool water and dusted the page:

You say it is the good cause that hallows even war?
I say unto you: it is the good war that hallows any cause
Not your pity but your courage has saved the unfortunate.
--Friedrich Nietzsche

In college I studied your sad history
I learned of your fates and your misery
From all corners of the world you sailed
And on the barbed wire fences you flailed
No help from Jesus or Mary his mother
If only you’d listen, we’re all brothers.

…And so on Hill 60, it came to pass
The Germans unleashed a horrible gas
So the Aussies tunneled underneath
And blew a hole under the Bosche feet
In return the Germans pulled a gun to shoot fire
And challenged the British desire.

And I say to you sir
“I see you gave your life in 1916
In this hallowed land of heroes and kings
What did you dream my brothers, my fathers
In this time before electric guitars?”

In the passing wind I hear this song
Whispers of Mozart, Wagner were strong
The wind swirled dances of Monet’s art
Even Dickens appeared to play a part
I laughed at the display of cultures
Chasing away Death’s lurking vultures

In return, I offered ‘Atlas’, guitars and Kesey
The wind laughed, “Chopin, Milton, and Nietzsche”
The swirling gusts picked me up off my feet
Half a million souls parading the streets

“They labeled you lost, you boys of the mud;
Though the only thing lost is your blood.
Do the players mention the glory you found?
You the Lasting, firing the last round
Rather they’d send you to die in the streets
Decked in their suits, whilst you shuffled your feet.

“So burn the silk ties
Every last one”
Say those who died by the machine-gun
No heroes, no villains nor rock n’ roll kings
Just the paintings, the poetry and guitar strings.
The boys of Hill 60 still rolling along
As dawn broke to end the song
“Thank you” I offered at the end of the flight
And the boys whispered, “Aim low; travel light.”