Best Dragoons Poems
By Robert J (Bob) Moore © 2016
I am a British soldier, been a soldier all my life
and back home in England, I left 2 kids and a wife
now I’m outside Sebastapol, with Cardigans Brigade
waiting to fight the Russians, Cavalry on Parade
We are part of Raglans Army, and we’re ready for the fray,
Light Dragoons and Lancers, and Hussars were there that day
We rode our light fast horses, for mobility and speed
Unarmoured, armed with lance and sword, skirmishing our deed
we have our orders “charge the guns” believe it we cannot
but ours is not to reason why, to do or die our lot
we sit our horses and wait there, for the word for us to go
hoping we won’t have to, a mistakes been made, we know.
We started down the valley, toward the waiting foe
riflemen to right and left, were shooting as we go
three quarters of a mile we rode, sprayed with shot and shell
600 of the Light Brigade, went charging into hell
A Russian battery to our left, another to our right
500 yards ahead of us, Russians, are starting to take flight
Line one went through the battery, 2 Regiments in all
the cost was great as all around, we saw men and horses fall
The second line of Cavalry, now charging through the guns
Cut and slash the gunners, as they turned to run
then came the third line, to complete the duty so assigned
to finish any gunners, or rifleman they could find
The charge is done, its “threes about”, and retire back up the hill
once more to brave the Valley of Death, Though the battle continued still
through the Russian skirmisher, rifle fire and cannon shot
the end for many brave soldier, who’d given all he’d got
And so the brave 600, with two thirds left behind
after a charge against 5000, returned, only to find
the heavies had not followed them, momentum had been lost
the charge, although magnificent, had not been worth the cost.
From Valhalla’s fortress of spears and shields,
Valkyrie riders make their daily runs…
Crossing Bifrost to Midgard’s battlefields,
Harvesting warriors till Ragnorak comes.
Flying from Valhalla on their war horses,
Thundering hooves beat like old battle drums,
Odin’s blond daughters watching the forces--
Harvesting warriors till Ragnorak comes.
Legionnaires, Pikemen, Hussars and Spartans;
Storm Troopers, Crusaders and Saracens;
Musketeers, Vikings, and Gladiators;
Watusi, Cossacks, and Conquistadors.
As long as men hear the sounds of war drums,
They’ll harvest the best till Ragnorak comes.
Valkyries search for those to stand vanguard,
Recruiting Odin’s Einherjar armies.
Warriors pass Valgrind to live in Asgard--
Honored to be served by the Valkyries.
Hoplites, Commandoes, and Mujahideens;
Samurais, Yeomen, and US Marines;
Guerrilas, Dragoons, and Panzer Tankers;
Grenadiers, Mamelukes, and Bezerkers.
As long as men hear the sounds of war drums,
Valkyries harvest till Ragnorak comes.
The Mockingbird sings out his misleading best,
in hopes to attract a dupe with a nest,
where the squatter believes mate’s eggs should belong;
so mimics and jabbers uncountable songs.
Catbirds and Thrashers, related critters,
both grey North Americans sport throats of a twitter.
These gifted Warblers mock tricky bird tunes,
deceiving, deluding as feathered dragoons.
In fairness to balance the Tweeters’ intent,
creating, demanding a need to invent
a song to attract a new or lost mate:
so, a beacon to follow and commitment to state.
EXAMPLE MOCK SONGS
whistling, hey-hey yip pittie-yap
frog gurgle, snarf-chickie claw-saw
peep peeping piccolo-staccato bleat
sniftering chit-chat, yodel-do do
snerling, rat trap, blah tat-tat-tat
crunchy nasal chirp, coo-coo-coo
And when the sky turned light and rosy
All started fussy fast and noisy,
Line by the line had shown.
Our colonel’s born as dashing fellow,
Tsar’s servant; dad for soldiers. Bellow
spread after wound – not voice of cello,
So pity, now he’s gone.
He told us with the eyes of fire:
“Guys! Moscow is behind” and prayer
said for Moscow here we’ll die
like our Brothers in Arms were dying
And we gave oath without the lying,
We kept it truly without crying,
Borodino, good-bye!
Oh, what a day, through smoke of battle,
French went like clouds and it was fatal
For our poor redoubt.
Uhlans with their motley badges,
Dragoons with horse-tales; dust and ashes;
They all were here on wings of vengeance,
They flashed and they went out.
You’ll never see the fight like ours!..
There were the shades and flying banners,
The blaze had seemed through smoke,
Damask was singing, case-shot’s squealing,
The warrior’s arm had tired of killing,
Balls couldn’t fly through bodies thrilling,
We couldn’t even walk.
The foe had known the rage and power
Of Russian combat in bad hour,
What does it mean – dogfight!..
With jolt of earth our chests were shaking,
A thousand volleys merged in aching
howl; horses, people were making
Blood mass before the night.
It became dark, but we were ready
Since morning stand against them steady
Again, until the end…
Drums rattled, enemy retreated,
We started count the wounds, we did it,
We were so tired, but undefeated,
All had his parish friend.
It was the time there were the people,
The modern tribe looks like some cripple,
They’re Heroes they’re not you.
Their fate is bad their fate is sorry
Not many had returned with glory,
God will be done and our story
Left Moscow beauteous view.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Mikhail Lermontov
Mikey is an Invictus man,
Gets many medals in archery,
Sporty and keen he continues,
From his previous Army career.
In the Queens Dragoons Guards,
Whilst training he got stuck, fell,
From a rope bridge: broken neck,
Spine, and paralysed from chest.
Help for Heroes helped him live,
He joined the recovery programme,
Several sports took him clean:
Cycling and Ironman triathlons.
But the moment he held a bow,
He knew that archery was his,
To reap with and to sow, build,
To elevate his wins and attempts.
And he was so good at it, supreme,
That HfH asked him to start, set up,
An archery programme for them,
At Phoenix House Recovery Centre.
He took individual bronze, Invictus,
And also team gold. In Holland,
He won a solid individual gold,
And also the team bronze, in 2015.
In Czechoslovak Mikey landed,
The team with a bronze to boast,
And is determined a medal to win,
In Rio, at the Summer Paralympics.
He was born on the 20th of July,
In the year 1975, crude rock days,
And lives in St Martins, Shropshire,
Shooting at Scorton Archery Club.
You help me with your gun
Your mind had been casted strong
with an iron reinforcement of wrong
guileful tied my life to your machines
and you help me with your guns
Your heart sees me as a contender
Because I had what you wander
While you are pauper
And you help me with your guns
When in anger you help me with guns
When disagreeing with my brother;
When he is against you
And you help me with your guns
We are now me and you together
we started killing my brother
with me and your guns
you are far far from me
and you help me with your guns
When I realised your motive
And me to pursue the right part
Then you called me a tyrant
And you defy to give me your guns
You now pointed your guns at me
And you now called me your enemy
The people your guns killed
And now you said I commit a genocide
My death brothers are displayed
like an Olympic gold medals
Who are we competiting with?
Is there another planet?
You forgot I killed with your guns
And you forgot you open my eyes
And showed me your lifestyle, ur manse
Now my lifestyle make no sense to you
Luckily your guns had their rivals
Across Atlantic you had your rivals
And i would freely gift your survival
And i would dealt with you randomly
It would be me pointing the guns
You would complain about my goads
You would called me a vicious
Murderer, madman, tyrant, repellents
My guns with aggressive face of Gods,
With the fire of dragoons,
The blood of Arabs,
The brain of Nigerians,
The resilient of Persians
The skill of Romans, and the minds of Americans
You said that your rivals guns are faux
How can i trust your facts?
when you brainwash me with your guns
to wept out my clan.
Kakamu jnr.
We shall plunder your ship
an old ship of our line.
Dare you fight
This, Ninty-pounder might.
On your trail were
our sloops alright.
Ahoy says my lieutenant.
We have you in sights.
Fifty four on two decks
Like a corvette’s disenchanted ride.
Aligned are our sails as fear dragoons
A point to the starboard parallel we fight
Waving whites
Tarry awhile,
Gunners at ports
Drown main mast and smile.
Where are the whites?
There, She- pirates in tights.
Heated balls, crackling: our main mast, alights.
Holy cow, not a single shot, there goes our defense without fights.
Midshipmen running blind
Armored beauties, capturing, our might.
Quickly sir, tossing uniforms we are travelers in fright.
Cutlass’s here shining blades there, we see no way to flight.
Down on your knees say’s this sleaze size;
Duly chained and cuffed learning to be this pirate’s prize.
Scraping the valley floor leaping skyward like a large locust prepared for war Thunder’s neck turns nostrils spewing glory Fiercer than dusky wolves that are hoary Flying like an eagle swift to devour while the dragon’s breath shows its fire power The thundering hand of death ripping flesh Breaking bone regarding not they do thresh This flying army with boots on the ground Is the first eyes you meet a hellish hound
Enslaved no more, I ran to him; lovingly we embraced
His arms around me, I knew my feelings were not misplaced
We fell to our knees in pleasure, my gown slowly fell down
Exploring each other tenderly, true love we had found
His gentle hands upon my skin, I quivered with delight
Our magical union made the dark prison cell seem bright
A virgin was not “deflowered,” rose buds burst into bloom
As I caressed the broad smooth chest of my most ardent groom
Upon my Dragon Dragoons, we set off to my homeland
Across the captor's wastelands, empty of festering bland
Soon we approach my kingdom, majestic mountains of awe
Over rich greened glens and blue rivers, of pure by glacial thaw
Ahead, my castle so grand, built from granite of the Scots
To any others who invade my kingdom, forget me not
We are greeted by my people, cheering my maiden and I
In salute to her saving, a wedding is what they cry
From this revealing, erotic dream, I woke up breathless
Knowing the loving connection I’d felt was not senseless
A Scottish eagle soared over the Highlands searching
His long-sought dove waits on an American shore perching
But now it’s clear what had transpired and soon the two will meet
Across the Atlantic he’ll sail, his past-life love to greet
And as in Medieval times their passion will reignite
Their reconnected souls will embark on a future bright
Alas! Just like poor Rapunzel, poor Princess Fauna was imprisoned in the highest wicked tower in her entire kingdom! Princess Fauna had long natural golden hair just as long and sturdy as Rapunzel's. Rapunzel was rescued by a thief, whereas Princess Fauna was rescued by a white knight in sterling silver, astride a white noble steed also called "Silver."***
"Hark! What sounds do mine own ears hear?" I hear the thundering hoof beats of a noble steed! Pray chance Almighty God, Thou hast sent one of Thine own knights to rescue me? Have mercy and loving kindness towards me! And smile favorably down upon Thine handmaiden from heaven's lofty heights." ***
Riding with the speed of the wind was a brave young knight clad in sterling silver armor. He posses a sword of truth, justice, liberty and honor. There was a bright and shining rainbow above his noble crown. Whenever he lifted his sword of justice towards God's lofty heavens', lightening bolts struck his holy and mighty sword!***
The royal knight Justin Freeman aimed his sword towards the fierce and fiery Satanic dragoons imprisoning the poor princess! Bolts of heavenly lightening came forth from his sword of liberty! The enemy's dragoons were struck dead by lightening. He then used his sword to pierce the black hearts of the demonic dragoons sent by Satan. And his victorious sword was drench with their lives' blood. ***
Then Princess Fauna let down her golden hair, and Royal knight Justin Freeman, ascended into the tower. Next they used her long golden locks to descend the evil tower. Finally he aimed his sword directly at it, and it bursts into flames. ***
They sang, danced and rejoiced and praised the Lord for its destruction! And the destructions of the evil dragoons! They rejoiced over the defeat of Satan and his minions! The forces of goodness and light were victorious over the forces of evil and darkness!
He then carried Princess Fauna on his noble steed "Silver" unto his own kingdom of goodness and light. Where God Almighty was the only God
worshiped and recognized! "And they lived happily ever after." ***
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
November 11, 2020
...The sharp-shooters opened on him first,
Cutting down fifteen of his dragoons,
Tartleton ordered a grand charged,
with his infantry now on the move.
The sharp-shooters fired and fell back,
were absorbed in the second line,
who had been ordered to fire twice,
then get out of there double-time.
They targeted British officers,
took them down with accurate shots,
then retreated back as ordered
giving much more then they got.
But Tarleton saw them running,
and assumed that his men had won,
then ran into the Continentals,
three-hundred-fifty men with guns.
The militia moved behind them,
tnd out came a thunderous roar,
Swathes of British fell to the ground,
their ‘victory’ now nevermore.
Then that same militia regrouped,
swung right to hit Britain's left flank,
then came colonial cavalry
from the right into Tarleton’s ranks.
Fire poured from three directions,
the British now in an enfilade,
caught in a double envelopment,
like the Romans trapped at Cumae.
To add to it the British
hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours,
the will to fight went out of them,
to keep on wasnot in their power.
Without getting word from above
most threw up their arms and they quit,
six-hundred thirty were captured,
one hundred ten dead before this.
Tarlteton himself road back to
his remaining cavalry troops,
tried to get them to charge again,
but this order they just refused.
Knowing what would be done to him
if by the rebels he was captured,
Tarleton fled with three hundred men,
all of his force that had endured.
Cornwallis’s army remained,
but had lost the cream of the crop,
he marched from South Carolina,
his efforts to pacify dropped.
Instead he headed up northwards,
to chase General Nathaniel Greene down,
leading to a chain of events
that would bring about doom at Yorktown.
For the hard-pressed Americans
it was a huge moral victory,
bringing back hope of success
thanks to Daniel Morgan’s masterpiece.
was not of folly, but of choice,
for saccharine safety on the higher ground
inside the wall
would cloy his sulpherous soul
and beating down his moble sacrifice
install a glutenous presumption
of a unity unworthy of him.
No, there must be cataclysm
in the leap, dragoons enlisted,
and a lamentation worthy of the feast...
the sighing tempered not by hominid
nor beast, but by a stubborn memory
of infant sleep,
beguiled by nothing more
than fragments in the grass.
~
...Through the woodlands the riflemen did steam,
reinforcing General Greene’s second line,
the British pressed on, still on the attack,
but they had quite the devil of a time.
Marching through forest that broke up their ranks,
while Americans poured on musket balls,
the dead and wounded kept piling up,
they paid dearly just to advance at all.
When the British threatened to turn the flank,
the patriots all fell back to the main force,
the Redcoats were bleeding from the losses,
and now only faced the prospect of more.
But onwards still they pushed the assault,
with their artillery joining the fray,
then in the chaos some guns were misaimed,
and blew some of their own soldiers away.
Forwards and back the two sides kept surging,
dragoons dismounting to fight on their feet,
but Nathaniel Greene was a thinking man,
and ordered his soldiers to all retreat.
He knew as long as his army survived
the King would have no victory in the south,
so he marched away, and Cornwallis faced
some big questions about what to do now?
Because as he counted up his losses
more than five hundred were wounded, or dead,
a quarter of his entire force…
the realization echoed in his head.
He had not the numbers to go on offense,
and the rebels had escaped mostly unscathed,
Nathaniel Greene’s army was still intact,
could still attack and devastate large swathes.
Cornwallis moved his men to Wilmington,
to resupply, reinforce, and fit out,
but the ‘beaten’ Greene did not wait for him,
in fact his army reinvaded the south!
One-by-one they picked off the garrisons,
freeing both Carolinas’ back-country,
driving forth until the British were left
holding just some small cities by the sea.
Cornwallis had not the numbers to challenge,
like Pyrrhus he had ground his army down,
so he march north to await his comrades,
at a small, seaside village called Yorktown…