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Best Famous Bomber Poems

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From A German War Primer

 AMONGST THE HIGHLY PLACED
It is considered low to talk about food.

The fact is: they have
Already eaten.


The lowly must leave this earth
Without having tasted
Any good meat.


For wondering where they come from and
Where they are going
The fine evenings find them
Too exhausted.


They have not yet seen
The mountains and the great sea
When their time is already up.


If the lowly do not
Think about what's low
They will never rise.


THE BREAD OF THE HUNGRY HAS
ALL BEEN EATEN
Meat has become unknown.
 Useless
The pouring out of the people's sweat.

The laurel groves have been
Lopped down.

From the chimneys of the arms factories
Rises smoke.


THE HOUSE-PAINTER SPEAKS OF
GREAT TIMES TO COME
The forests still grow.

The fields still bear
The cities still stand.

The people still breathe.


ON THE CALENDAR THE DAY IS NOT
YET SHOWN
Every month, every day
Lies open still.
 One of those days
Is going to be marked with a cross.


THE WORKERS CRY OUT FOR BREAD
The merchants cry out for markets.

The unemployed were hungry.
 The employed
Are hungry now.

The hands that lay folded are busy again.

They are making shells.


THOSE WHO TAKE THE MEAT FROM THE TABLE
Teach contentment.

Those for whom the contribution is destined
Demand sacrifice.

Those who eat their fill speak to the hungry
Of wonderful times to come.

Those who lead the country into the abyss
Call ruling too difficult
For ordinary men.


WHEN THE LEADERS SPEAK OF PEACE
The common folk know
That war is coming.

When the leaders curse war
The mobilization order is already written out.


THOSE AT THE TOP SAY: PEACE
AND WAR
Are of different substance.

But their peace and their war
Are like wind and storm.


War grows from their peace
Like son from his mother
He bears
Her frightful features.


Their war kills
Whatever their peace
Has left over.


ON THE WALL WAS CHALKED:
They want war.

The man who wrote it
Has already fallen.


THOSE AT THE TOP SAY:
This way to glory.

Those down below say:
This way to the grave.


THE WAR WHICH IS COMING
Is not the first one.
 There were
Other wars before it.

When the last one came to an end
There were conquerors and conquered.

Among the conquered the common people
Starved.
 Among the conquerors
The common people starved too.


THOSE AT THE TOP SAY COMRADESHIP
Reigns in the army.

The truth of this is seen
In the cookhouse.

In their hearts should be
The selfsame courage.
 But
On their plates
Are two kinds of rations.


WHEN IT COMES TO MARCHING MANY DO NOT
KNOW
That their enemy is marching at their head.

The voice which gives them their orders
Is their enemy's voice and
The man who speaks of the enemy
Is the enemy himself.


IT IS NIGHT
The married couples
Lie in their beds.
 The young women
Will bear orphans.


GENERAL, YOUR TANK IS A POWERFUL VEHICLE
It smashes down forests and crushes a hundred men.

But it has one defect:
It needs a driver.


General, your bomber is powerful.

It flies faster than a storm and carries more than an elephant.

But it has one defect:
It needs a mechanic.


General, man is very useful.

He can fly and he can kill.

But he has one defect:
He can think.

Written by Bertolt Brecht |

From A German War Primer

 AMONGST THE HIGHLY PLACED
It is considered low to talk about food.

The fact is: they have
Already eaten.


The lowly must leave this earth
Without having tasted
Any good meat.


For wondering where they come from and
Where they are going
The fine evenings find them
Too exhausted.


They have not yet seen
The mountains and the great sea
When their time is already up.


If the lowly do not
Think about what's low
They will never rise.


THE BREAD OF THE HUNGRY HAS
ALL BEEN EATEN
Meat has become unknown.
 Useless
The pouring out of the people's sweat.

The laurel groves have been
Lopped down.

From the chimneys of the arms factories
Rises smoke.


THE HOUSE-PAINTER SPEAKS OF
GREAT TIMES TO COME
The forests still grow.

The fields still bear
The cities still stand.

The people still breathe.


ON THE CALENDAR THE DAY IS NOT
YET SHOWN
Every month, every day
Lies open still.
 One of those days
Is going to be marked with a cross.


THE WORKERS CRY OUT FOR BREAD
The merchants cry out for markets.

The unemployed were hungry.
 The employed
Are hungry now.

The hands that lay folded are busy again.

They are making shells.


THOSE WHO TAKE THE MEAT FROM THE TABLE
Teach contentment.

Those for whom the contribution is destined
Demand sacrifice.

Those who eat their fill speak to the hungry
Of wonderful times to come.

Those who lead the country into the abyss
Call ruling too difficult
For ordinary men.


WHEN THE LEADERS SPEAK OF PEACE
The common folk know
That war is coming.

When the leaders curse war
The mobilization order is already written out.


THOSE AT THE TOP SAY: PEACE
AND WAR
Are of different substance.

But their peace and their war
Are like wind and storm.


War grows from their peace
Like son from his mother
He bears
Her frightful features.


Their war kills
Whatever their peace
Has left over.


ON THE WALL WAS CHALKED:
They want war.

The man who wrote it
Has already fallen.


THOSE AT THE TOP SAY:
This way to glory.

Those down below say:
This way to the grave.


THE WAR WHICH IS COMING
Is not the first one.
 There were
Other wars before it.

When the last one came to an end
There were conquerors and conquered.

Among the conquered the common people
Starved.
 Among the conquerors
The common people starved too.


THOSE AT THE TOP SAY COMRADESHIP
Reigns in the army.

The truth of this is seen
In the cookhouse.

In their hearts should be
The selfsame courage.
 But
On their plates
Are two kinds of rations.


WHEN IT COMES TO MARCHING MANY DO NOT
KNOW
That their enemy is marching at their head.

The voice which gives them their orders
Is their enemy's voice and
The man who speaks of the enemy
Is the enemy himself.


IT IS NIGHT
The married couples
Lie in their beds.
 The young women
Will bear orphans.


GENERAL, YOUR TANK IS A POWERFUL VEHICLE
It smashes down forests and crushes a hundred men.

But it has one defect:
It needs a driver.


General, your bomber is powerful.

It flies faster than a storm and carries more than an elephant.

But it has one defect:
It needs a mechanic.


General, man is very useful.

He can fly and he can kill.

But he has one defect:
He can think.

Written by Robert William Service |

Bill The Bomber

 The poppies gleamed like bloody pools through cotton-woolly mist;
The Captain kept a-lookin' at the watch upon his wrist;
And there we smoked and squatted, as we watched the shrapnel flame;
'Twas wonnerful, I'm tellin' you, how fast them bullets came.

'Twas weary work the waiting, though; I tried to sleep a wink,
For waitin' means a-thinkin', and it doesn't do to think.

So I closed my eyes a little, and I had a niceish dream
Of a-standin' by a dresser with a dish of Devon cream;
But I hadn't time to sample it, for suddenlike I woke:
"Come on, me lads!" the Captain says, 'n I climbed out through the smoke.

We spread out in the open: it was like a bath of lead;
But the boys they cheered and hollered fit to raise the bloody dead,
Till a beastly bullet copped 'em, then they lay without a sound,
And it's odd -- we didn't seem to heed them corpses on the ground.

And I kept on thinkin', thinkin', as the bullets faster flew,
How they picks the werry best men, and they lets the rotters through;
So indiscriminatin' like, they spares a man of sin,
And a rare lad wot's a husband and a father gets done in.

And while havin' these reflections and advancin' on the run,
A bullet biffs me shoulder, and says I: "That's number one.
"

Well, it downed me for a jiffy, but I didn't lose me calm,
For I knew that I was needed: I'm a bomber, so I am.

I 'ad lost me cap and rifle, but I "carried on" because
I 'ad me bombs and knew that they was needed, so they was.

We didn't 'ave no singin' now, nor many men to cheer;
Maybe the shrapnel drowned 'em, crashin' out so werry near;
And the Maxims got us sideways, and the bullets faster flew,
And I copped one on me flipper, and says I: "That's number two.
"

I was pleased it was the left one, for I 'ad me bombs, ye see,
And 'twas 'ard if they'd be wasted like, and all along o' me.

And I'd lost me 'at and rifle -- but I told you that before,
So I packed me mit inside me coat and "carried on" once more.

But the rumpus it was wicked, and the men were scarcer yet,
And I felt me ginger goin', but me jaws I kindo set,
And we passed the Boche first trenches, which was 'eapin' 'igh with dead,
And we started for their second, which was fifty feet ahead;
When something like a 'ammer smashed me savage on the knee,
And down I came all muck and blood: Says I: "That's number three.
"

So there I lay all 'elpless like, and bloody sick at that,
And worryin' like anythink, because I'd lost me 'at;
And thinkin' of me missis, and the partin' words she said:
"If you gets killed, write quick, ol' man, and tell me as you're dead.
"
And lookin' at me bunch o' bombs -- that was the 'ardest blow,
To think I'd never 'ave the chance to 'url them at the foe.

And there was all our boys in front, a-fightin' there like mad,
And me as could 'ave 'elped 'em wiv the lovely bombs I 'ad.

And so I cussed and cussed, and then I struggled back again,
Into that bit of battered trench, packed solid with its slain.


Now as I lay a-lyin' there and blastin' of me lot,
And wishin' I could just dispose of all them bombs I'd got,
I sees within the doorway of a shy, retirin' dug-out
Six Boches all a-grinnin', and their Captain stuck 'is mug out;
And they 'ad a nice machine gun, and I twigged what they was at;
And they fixed it on a tripod, and I watched 'em like a cat;
And they got it in position, and they seemed so werry glad,
Like they'd got us in a death-trap, which, condemn their souls! they 'ad.

For there our boys was fightin' fifty yards in front, and 'ere
This lousy bunch of Boches they 'ad got us in the rear.


Oh it set me blood a-boilin' and I quite forgot me pain,
So I started crawlin', crawlin' over all them mounds of slain;
And them barstards was so busy-like they 'ad no eyes for me,
And me bleedin' leg was draggin', but me right arm it was free.
 .
 .
 .

And now they 'ave it all in shape, and swingin' sweet and clear;
And now they're all excited like, but -- I am drawin' near;
And now they 'ave it loaded up, and now they're takin' aim.
 .
 .
 .

Rat-tat-tat-tat! Oh here, says I, is where I join the game.

And my right arm it goes swingin', and a bomb it goes a-slingin',
And that "typewriter" goes wingin' in a thunderbolt of flame.


Then these Boches, wot was left of 'em, they tumbled down their 'ole,
And up I climbed a mound of dead, and down on them I stole.

And oh that blessed moment when I heard their frightened yell,
And I laughed down in that dug-out, ere I bombed their souls to hell.

And now I'm in the hospital, surprised that I'm alive;
We started out a thousand men, we came back thirty-five.

And I'm minus of a trotter, but I'm most amazin' gay,
For me bombs they wasn't wasted, though, you might say, "thrown away".