Best Gallipoli Poems
Gallipoli
by Robert J (Bob) Moore
They came together across the sea,
to this place they called Gallipoli
all walks of life, class and creed,
all they knew, there was a need
From far and near, they heard the call,
did not know, so many would fall
they knew a job needed to be done,
and they would do it, each mothers son
For many it was a chance to roam,
did not think some, would not come home
they’d see the world, and make their name
and as a hero, come home again
That April morn was cold and grey,
the enemy did not run away
he stayed to fight for his homeland,
and to the last man, make his stand
Friends were falling as the bullets flew,
have to keep moving, nothing more I can do
find some shelter, then look around
but nowhere to hide, on this cold ground
So now it ends, so far away
from home, and friends, and normal day
I wonder in future, the years to come
will they think of us, and what we have done
Lest We Forget
Across troop ship bow the cliffs drew nearer
and into harm’s way mighty battalions drove -
men and mule upon cold waves of terror
stormed the beachhead landings on Anzac Cove.
The digger Dogs of War unleashed again
an Expeditionary Force by sea,
in hallowed ground of brave infantrymen
lie the bones of Empires in Gallipoli.
Great southern blue, red and white standard stars
in battle hymn out of Commonwealth port,
where the flame of liberty fiercely chars
every bleeding heart whose sons fell and fought.
A hundred years ago soldiers in a world at war
battled on a foreign shore
for King ‘n Country, God ‘n Corps.
The battle was lost, the Great War won,
their sacrifice laid bare, their duty done.
We march at dawn for mate and vet
and to remember the fallen Lest We Forget!
Sappers, farmers, salesmen, drovers and clerks -
young men and boys their slouch hats wore,
and in steep gullies and ravines fought the Turks
like when on the velt they fought the Boer.
In muddy trench and bunker riflemen joining
charged the lines on Ottoman ancient land,
loud shellfire through dead night and dawning
fell in great battle Anzac’s finest stand!
On Lone Pine, Dead Man’s Ridge, Chunuk Bair
the battlefield told a colony’s tale,
beyond those cliffs soon would her bugles blare
in Palestine, Fromelles and Passchendaele.
A hundred years ago soldiers in a world at war
battled on a foreign shore
for King ‘n Country, God ‘n Corps.
The battle was lost, the Great War won,
their sacrifice laid bare, their duty done.
We march at dawn for mate and vet
and to remember the fallen Lest We Forget!
Raise the flag and let us honour the slew
whose battle is over - the glory and the ghost
of those men of valour in distant graves who
stood their ground and stood their post!
Written: April 2015
GALLIPOLI
From the Snowy River March, they came
So young and free and wild
Someone’s brother…father…nephew
Or a mothers only child
The call was made and the lads rallied round
As they vowed to fight for love of country
On the shores of this foreign land
And as they left the comfort of their homes
For their voyage across the sea
Little expectations had these boys
Of what they would encounter on the sands of Gallipoli
Blessed were the living that had fought their way ashore
Amidst the hail of bullets and gunfire
And the sickening sound of agony
As through flesh this horror tore
To make it to the trenches
was more than the mind could bear
to see the sight of bloodied, twisted bodies
that writhed in agony and despair
nothing had prepared these boys
for the sight they did behold
the stench of wounded bodies
and the damp and rain and cold
for those that made it home
to a warm and loving embrace
was of little consolation
to the mates that gave their lives
on the now silent blood-soaked shores
of this forsaken foreign place
SANDS OF GALLIPOLI’S BLOOD
On the sands where diggers bled
As they came ashore,
To fight the good fight,
Puppets of a master’s whim
Of loyalty to a crown of way beyond,
No hesitation to join and follow fellow brothers here,
From the land of hard toil of country life,
From the landscapes of city folks,
From mining deep down in mining coals,
From the fields where they dug for gold,
To butchering beasts on the hooks,
And from behind the counters of banks, post offices and desks in offices,
They came not hesitating,
They came in droves,
Some were boys who lied about their age,
And some were older who lowered the time
of their existence here on earth,
And many here were wanting to escape an existence of being bored,
And many fathers and sons said goodbye to mum,
And for the majority
They were in their prime,
The cream of this young nation’s crop,
And in their droves descending strong
Upon the place where they swore allegiance to a King they didn’t know,
Then on a meagre practice of scantily put together months,
They left our shore,
Packed like sardines in their ships,
Off on their great adventure and escape from a relatively known to unknown,
And from Albany Sound that day in November
First of convoy of ‘Zacs departed,
And on the way a decision made to bring together this motley crew,
To land upon a foreign shore
And storm the shores of a place,
That’s gone down in history to be
Where on that fateful day
A legend was born,
And became widely known as;
The sands of Gallipoli’s blood.
Francis Cooper – Mac © 30-Jun-20
A Poem Of WW1
ANZAC Day
25th April 2018
Let’s have at Johnny Turk
Winston Churchill said,
We’ll secure the Dardanelles,
Keep our Russian trade fed.
His words so casually uttered
May have had to be eaten
Johnny Turk was well Generalled
And not so easily beaten.
The naval campaign to start
Was, at a price, repelled,
The following land invasion
Was resisted and held.
After eight cruel months
Our forces were withdrawn
Half a million dead and wounded
Left for both sides to mourn.
They came from India, New Zealand,
Australia, Canada, Europe as well
Only to leave their bones
In Gallipoli’s Hell.
And so it ended,
A campaign of disaster
With massive repercussion
Felt for so long after.
Constantinople never taken,
The Ottoman Empire in shreds,
Turkey arisen from the ashes which
Gallipoli General Attaturk led.
Words attributed to Attaturk
On a plaque overlooking the Bay
Honouring the dead of all Nations
Still stands to this very day.
Eighty one cemeteries and memorials
Now overlook that battle’s scene
The only mute and grim reminder
That a disastrous campaign had been.
And so we parade each year
To respect and honour the memories,
Of those that survived and those
Resting in foreign cemeteries.
This Poem was read out by Padre Ralph Catts, our Honorary Padre, at Hull Cenotaph ANZAC Day Parade. I had the honour of laying a wreath on behalf of Hull Veteran Support Centre. The Poem was written for the occaision.
Off Season in Gallipoli
April’s bus from Lecce unloads
at the fabled fish market. It’s closed.
The only hint of June’s full fare
is one slight stall. No one lunching there.
The streets are open; we stroll at will
by a weathered or a white-washed wall.
Look at the moored boats. The slips are full.
No one paints or mends a sail.
Not one child with shovel and pail
works the beach. One man and his bull
dog play a game of pitch and fetch.
Cameras out; this is the daily catch!
The mercato. Shop? No dice!
but its facilities have no line,
leaving time to lick Italian ice
or to enjoy the local wine
and for the uncluttered spell to weave
until it’s time to leave.
Do you think the rains will break
He said to his wife at the morning wake
It’s the 25 th of the month you know
And time to plant the crop to let it grow
Outside there were dark clouds gathering
With a spot or two on his face falling
Perhaps he’ll be back to help with the harvest
And things will be back to best
On a foreign shoreline there were figures lying still
Some on the beach scattered without a drill
Lying with his face turned up to the sky staring
There were raindrops falling on his face uncaring.
© Paul Warren Poetry