Best Boer Poems
War
Were you lost in the war,
tween the Poms n the Boer
Bush Veldt Carbineers,
for sure, one time.
Did death interfere,
enlisted no fear, dumb time,
Were you in the trench,
with the dead oh the stench,
When lice were chewing just fine,
Kaiser Bill’s, machine gunner’s , did you kill,
Just another one of the times.
Time wasting for sure,
when death shuts the door,
The baby does grow yet again,
Poor bugger me, has to learn it all see,
Old enough for death to explain.
Hitler came next and the Japanese threat,
In the death march, you died of the bayonet,
So come back again, like a veteran,
This time, try to explain it.
Don Johnson
Each time I raise my gaze to the night sky,
A million stars stare back, shedding happy tears of light.
And I cannot but stare back in delight,
Wondering which one of them holds your great soul.
Tell me, Old Nelson, do they--these stars--still shine upon
you?
Heaven should grant that they do,
For like them your example still shines upon us, pointing
to us the true north of life--
And, oh yes, this one great lesson: that life's struggles will
endure our stumbles but never our mumbles.
Yes! Our hopes may fall and our fortunes dip, but on their
feet our voices must keep.
Twenty-seven years did rough chains bind your feet,
And twenty-seven years did they girdle your breast,
But not once--never--did they bind your voice.
"Only free men can negotiate," you scoffed at your jailers,
scorning to barter your ideals for your freedom;
And to that crooked Boer court: "A free South Africa is the
great ideal for which I live, and if need be it is the one ideal
for which I will die."
Then to a bleeding, seething nation: "Let's break with the past."
From the flesh of these words a new nation was carved for
white, brown, and black alike.
Twinkle for twinkle it matches the skies,
And in its bosom you now rest forever: quiet, contented,
victorious!
Slouch Hat
When you see the hat or hear the tune so fair,
you'll know what its about.
The old "Slouch hat" that our Digger's wear,
and the "Waltzing Matilda" no doubt.
Yes we have some pride in what we've done,
of the convict blood in this race.
We'll never be happy unless we've won,
to lose is a big disgrace.
Whenever asked, well we've been there,
to aid our friends in a War.
Our boys they've died, yes died with flair,
since the Breaker fought the Boer.
Well now we're multicultural, mixed, all sorts,
but all Aussies any rate.
New Aussies can be good at sports,
so say "Good on you mate."
It doesn't matter how smart you are,
don't try politics, be a clown.
You can be very popular,
till the newsmen pull you down.
Character assassination is their trade,
they cut tall poppies short.
Brainwashing by the sentence made,
they got Bondy didn't they sport?
When you see our Diggers on a farewell parade,
all races so proudly march there .
And the Waltzing Matilda so loudly is played,
it picks up your feet with its flair.
The Bayonets are fixed and Sabres displayed
for the Diggers its walking on air.
They're off to do battle with the tools of their trade,
the young and the brave proudly there.
by D H Johnson.
________________________________________
N TROTSE AFRIKANER BOER
Ek staan vanaand en kyk na my land
Suid Afrika.
Waar is ons land dan? Waar gaan
ons le vanaand?
Ek sien weer die voortreker wa. Ek
sien weer my oupa se oupa waar hy
jonk en vrolik die osse inspan, want
net oor die volgende bult le ons rus,
net oor die volgende bult le toekoms
rus oor daai bult le Louis Trichardt
en oor daai bult le buffels fontein.
Ja ons Afrikaner bloed le diep. Ver
loop ons bloed in bloedrivier in. In
die grond le ons swoeg en sweet. Is
daar dan nou nie n plek vir ons
afrikaner hart nie. Word ons nie ook
n plek gegun in die aarde waar ons
voorvaders baklei het vir ons
bestaan nie?
Hoe lank moet ons baklei om ons
plek te kry in die afrika se son en
sand? Hoe ver moet ons dan trek om
weer eens die land te maak waar ons
kan opbou soner om te dink water
plaas word weer geplunder water
een van ons Afrikaner boere se vrou
en kiners kry seer.
STAAN OP MY BOERE VOLK STAAN
OP UIT DIE AS EN KOM STAAN
SAAM TEEN DIE WAT SEER MAAK
WAT AFBRAND
Want ons hart le in ons kiners se
toekoms en soner ons aksie is hul
verlore. Sal hul omdraai en vra waar
is ons trots afrikaner waar was ons
Want in die land van moord rape en
barbare kan ons ook weer n land vir
ons as afrikaner skep. Kan ons die
Afrikaner weer veilig slaap vir ons
kiners n toekoms gee as daar aksie
is as ons ook weier om op getrap te
word
Aussie Flag o the Convict spawn
Under this flag we fought for sure,
defending Pommy gits and more,
defending of our nation,
in murderous situations,
tween Afghans and the Boer...
we'd run it up the old flagpole,
fluttered there our heart and soul,
the Aussies are on station,
the convict spawn relation,
adventure is our goal,
you step on us we will step on you,
careful how you treat us blue,
right cross to the snotter too,
in a stirry situation,
the Aussies and the Kiwis saw,
that we were cannon fodder for,
pommy overlords of nations,
respect for them no never when,
we spearheaded Tobruk and Alamein,
less pommy casualties to frame,
colonial extermination...
Don Johnson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACFGr3G1In8
O'er
Frank de Boer
© Gail Foster 11th September 2017
She qualified more years ago
than many people want to know.
In fact it was before the War;
(we’re talking now about the Boer.)
Her methods haven’t changed a lot,
since Granny Smith was just a tot
and still she carries, all the time,
some tansy, hyssop and a lime.
Her gentle touch, a word or two
will keep us from our Waterloo.
And if we suffer stress or strain
she'll calm us down and then explain,
"A little rum will ease the pain!"
~
Ned Kelly
DNA
Kelly DNA found
throughout the land,
and down around the
Dungle Bore,
Fred Layton had a
strand,
He had the Kelly
earmark, wore,
his descendants
Harpers, grand,
wore the Dan Kelly
type of ear-lobe,
that DNA had
planned,
If you look at Red
Kellys' brood,
they have the
lobeless ear,
distinctive breed &
trademark proved,
Don Johnson says
it's here,
Fred Layton he was
no wuss,
clean-skins they
needed branding,
the law of the bush,
a brand to push,
the T-Bones were
understanding,
100 Dan Kellys tried
to show,
that they were not
Red Herrings,
Alone Steve Hart,
Dungle Bore did go,
double cover in his
bearing,
bloody cunning
so-n-so:}
Traps they knew of
Steves' death too,
his cross in old
Calcutta,
Dan came home alone,
from the Boer War
zone,
as the Leather-heads
do mutter
{birds of the bush}
Don Johnson
Leatherheads have a
bump of meat on on
top of the beak....a
grey friar bird who
will talk to lonely
people in the
outback
You were born in Clermont, Queensland on December, twenty-four,
Away back circa eighteen sevn'ty-two.
Edward Jones now had a fifth child, whom his dear wife Anna bore,
Their second son and both were proud of you.
They'd migrated out from Ireland back in eighteen sixty-three
And sailed upon the good ship Beejapore.
Landing at Rockhampton harbour in the Queensland colony,
Resettling on a strange and foreign shore.
Childhood days behind you Victor you then joined the work force lad,
Assigned to a gold mining company.
In the range town of Mt Morgan you enjoyed the job you had;
A diligent and loyal employee.
You assisted the paymaster, though you left your posting when
You chose to join your countrymen at war.
For you heard the call of duty and you joined Mt Morgan men
To fight for Queen and country 'gainst the Boer.
Volunteering as a member of the gallant Q.M.I.
You proudly donned that feather in your hat.
First Contingent of B Company you waved this land good-bye,
Enrolled as British troops and went to bat.
Rebel Boers embarked on raiding farms of loyal colonists
In Griqualand west district to the north.
Counter measures were then put in place to stop these terrorists
By sending Pilcher and his column forth.
On the last day of December circa eighteen ninety-three
This force would march from Belmont heading west.
Information was forthcoming as to where the Boers could be
And Ricardo led his party which was soon put to the test.
On the first day of that New Year Victor Jones you lost your life;
They buried you at Sunnyside that eve.
Since that day the world's continued to be filled with war and strife,
So many die for what they do believe.
But the nation recognises that the first Australian
To die upon the battle field was you.
So Mt Morgan folk erected to your memory young man
A monument; the least that they could do.
In the not too distant future Victor, nations may yet see,
How precious all their young men really are.
Then refrain from sacrificing them and let the young men be,
Fine fathers to their families, not memories afar.
In South Africa during the Boer War
Granddad got the key of the door
In France during World War 1
He lay wounded when the day was done
He could have met a very bloody end
But for the bravery of his friend
So he lived to fight another day instead
And died an old man in his own bed
Hard cheese for the E U
The Dutch, have tractored through'
A sea change election from
A farm conscious; direction
Theres now a great party
Grounded in sanity looking in clarity
Holland may longer sinking? from
Great green waste bills a'stinking
Reality astounding could well
Counter such drowning, which illegal
And immoral brings division and quarrel
Heads up now Holland.' May brighter
Prospects soon follow; on.'
Unmusking the Lies - Poem written to Elon Musk
In the stillness of night, a truth stirs and grows,
A chorus of voices, where our history flows.
From the ashes of burdens, our spirits ignite,
Our pain woven deep, and we’re reclaiming our light.
Elon, hear our cries—this narrative’s flawed,
To claim we are killers, is a strike at theawed.
The echo of struggle, the chant you condemn,
Is a cry for the fallen, for our lost sisters and brethren.
"Kill the Boer," they chant—not a call to the blade,
But a voice through the silence, where our heroes were laid.
It reflects the suffering, the scars of the past,
A fight for our freedom, a hope built to last.
We carry the weight of history’s chains,
But our joy and our strength break free from the pains.
We aren't the oppressors; we rise, we stand tall,
In the shadows of anguish, our spirits won’t fall.
So listen, dear world, and lend us your ear,
For the truth of our struggle is steeped in our fear.
To label us violent is to silence our soul;
We rise from oppression, reclaiming our whole.
The chants of the past are our stories of strife,
They honor the fallen, they honor our life.
In the face of injustice, we won’t turn away,
We’ll sing for the chosen, who fought night and day.
So stop with the labels, and see us anew,
For our strength is in unity, and our hearts hold the truth.
That mourning is layered, and pain wears many forms,
But in justice and healing, our resilience transforms.
Let love be the narrative, let wisdom be clear,
For only in understanding will we silence the fear.
Together, we rise, hand in hand, side by side,
In the tapestry of justice, our souls will abide.
Context,
Boer War , South Africa
The Battle for Spion Kop
Slag van Spioenkop
Ladysmith , Natal
23 January 1900
British forces under the command
Sir Redvers Buller
Dug in to take the higher ground
on Spion Kop
In order to engage the Boer army
encircling below
Lead by General Louis Botha
The rest is written down in history, folklore and infamy
And a famous football club's stand named after it
Dedicated to it's fallen
2nd Battalion Lancashire Fusseliers
243 Dead
1250 Casualties
I write this only because,
i myself visited this hilltop graveyard paid homage and knelt before it's unkept memorial upon it
And instead of feeling what i thought
i should be the travesty, horror and
utter futility of war
And whilst leaving took 1 final glance over my shoulder at the vista and panorama only to be over come by the sheer unadulterated serenity and beauty
And i left perversely thinking what a beautiful place to die
Death has a hell of a lot to live up too
You are welcome to share this poem for noncommercial use and dedicate it to your favorite mother, but please credit the author if you share it on social media or elsewhere …
Mother’s Smile
by Michael R. Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”
So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.
There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, then flew.
But, oh, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!
I have dedicated this poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, and my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch. Published by TALESetc, Famous Poets and Poems, Poems for Big Kids (anthology), Victorian Violet Press, Better Than Starbucks, Promosaik (Germany), Pour Femme (Italy), Korean Palmers, JIT Jaipur (India), Inspirational Stories and Care2Care; also Penguin Books Valentine’s Day Contest Winner and included in the Children of Gaza song cycle by composer Eduard de Boer. Keywords/Tags: Mother, Mothers, Mothers Day, family, children, love, compassion, tenderness, encouraging, encouragement, selflessness, sacrifice, comfort, hugs, kisses, smile, smiles
Love has a gentle grace
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth on Mother’s Day
Love has a gentle grace; you have not seen her
unless you’ve looked into your mother’s eyes
and seen her faith
—serene, composed and wise—
that you’re the center of her very being
(as once, indeed, she carried you inside.)
Love has no wilder beauty than the thought
that you’re the best of all she ever sought.
(And if, perhaps, you don’t believe my song,
can your mother be wrong?)
Think you may have been an Aussie Joe,
last time on the planet, south,
probably fought in some British war,
till yer chips were cashiered out,
used ol .303 enfield, no bloody doubt,
but life n death, was turn about,
but nothings bloody sure,
perhaps amongst the Boer,
did ya lifeblood here run out....
Don Johnson