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Below is the poem entitled BULLANT BITTEN OR SHOT which was written by poet DON JOHNSON. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Oh yes its very popular to walk the Kokoda Track,
And people by the dozen have done just bloody that,
I you were there in forty two it wasn’t as much fun,
With a hundred weight upon your back and a ten pound threeo gun,

You climbed the golden stairs knee deep in the mud,
The mountains just got higher and the mossies wanted blood,
A little pimple on your leg became an oozing ulcer,
Iodine rag screwed in the wound by some flaming vulture,

The Jap would lay in ambush so you watched the bloody bush,
And you couldn’t stop a watching and no bloody food you wuss?
Then its raining food and ammo bully beef splat up a tree,
Dog biscuits shattered breadcrumbs fill your pocket up for free,

Till they got mouldy,

You’d be alone in the jungle and you would meet a scouting Jap,
He’d fire all his bullets from his Arisaka . Crack,
Then he’d come for you with a bayonet on a rifle at hi port,
And you’d try the bayonet fighting or plonk his brisket sport?

The bloody Diaorea made you weak , no strength in your knees,
The woodpecker is buzzing taking bark off all the trees,
So your eyes are full of bark chips Joes throwing sticks at me ,
And the bulldog ants are biting what an awful place to be,

Choices bitten, shot or clubbed by friendly sticks ?

Stop jumping around you’re drawing the crabs,
Woodpecker hammers my tree,
And the bloody ants are biting,
And I can’t quite bloody see.

Don Johnson

How it was for Don Johnson 2/25th btn Kokoda New Guinea 1942

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  1. Date: 11/12/2013 5:52:00 PM
    You are an adventure writer my friend, much enjoyed your poem, very enlightening xxx

  1. Date: 11/11/2013 5:55:00 AM
    Good job of putting this story to rhyme..So you fought in the big one..Enjoyed reading your heroic story..So you must be at least in your eighties..Both my brothers served in WWII and if living they would be in their nineties now..Good to see your work again..Sara

    Date: 11/11/2013 5:03:00 PM Block poet from commenting on your poetry

    My Dad it was who climbed the hill, on green Kokoda blood he spilled, to keep Japs from our door, He insisted on me writing anything about him in the first person, I :} He is gone but he still makes his presence felt:}