Best Gunners Poems
Blessed with ingenuity, he fought advancing tyranny
That stormed the sea in twenty-three great warships sailing furiously.
That day, October twenty-first, saw Admiral Nelson at his worst,
As cannons roared, while gunners cursed. The times were changed, the tides reversed.
Lord Nelson, as an admiral brave with all his fleet defied the grave,
His native land and king to save:-- his life for freedom's cause he gave.
In but a half a dozen hours he humbled Europe's finest pow'rs,
And toppled Tyranny's highest tow'rs; yet Vict'ry found him crowned with flow'rs,
And not a place the crown to lay, on him, nor all who died that day
In sending Britain's foes away, across the stormy seas of grey.
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
Children give me pitying stares, At least I'd at home,
Pointing and screaming, Home,Sweet Home,
Giving my cubs a scare. Home in my forest,
Deep in China.
Keepers poke around my space,
Making me uncomfortable, When I'm lost and feeling alone,
In my place. I'd like to think that I was at home,
Back In my Home,
Adults think me as a comic pet, In China
Laughing and cheering,
It's like putting me under a net. At least I'd be at home,
Home, Sweet Home,
Teenagers think nothing of me, Home in my forest,
The past, the present, the future to come Deep in China.
I'm stuck in captivity,
Why can't they see?
Toddlers look,
As if I'm a wolf,
I'm nothing from a story book.
If I was back in my home,
Back in China,
It would be dream come true.
My brothers and sisters,
Would be waiting for me,
We would play together,
Out in the trees.
I would still live in fear,
From gunners and destruction,
But I would be at home
I swear to the summer-
I am a well-aged drummer...
Like liver and pee's,
like grease on the tree's,
like sweet tarts and tea.
I swear to the summer-
I am a well-aged drummer...
Like listeners without runners,
like dangerous men without gunners-
don't be naked just be funner,
don't be jaded just act like your comin',
I swear to the summer-
I need no real number,
I swear to your comin'-
I love the leader and all the wanderer,
and the fisherman,
and the ponderer,
and the drinker,
and the blunderer.
I swear to the summer,
I am a well aged drummer,
I can take away your lumber,
and burn it like a hunter-
I can turn it into something,
that I saw in the light of the reflection,
I can see you dance well in the mist,
of nature's best kiss,
and resist when you need the fist,
and reminisce,
even though I am just a man,
and I have never felt the mix.
Like a tall building that hasn't been built yet,
like an animal that hasn't been born yet,
like man with his child,
like women with her mild-
life has a style,
you have it
and you fill,
in the mind-
and the child...
Just to say it again
you have been the smile,
and your love makes me wild-
and your hugs hold for miles,
and your fun takes the pile,
and even though you're gone now I can stay for a while,
and sway in the reef when the tide lifts me,
and feel the knees when I become weak,
and be too much when too much hits me-
and sleep when god reads me...
The noose is a nightmare for any seafaring man
Especially those who thrive the best they can
Danger lurks on the waves like a mugger in the shadows
The only concern is the prize and the gallows
For the young pressed into service have two labors
Cabin boy or powder monkey are their favors
A fair share for those who survived
Though not to many lived to enjoy the ride
Mostly master gunners would employ the young ones
For the task of loader and powder runs
A grizzly sight to any mother of today
Blood spattered, powder covered, limbs severed portray
I dare say I met one intact and conscious
He was rude and quite audacious
No name had he just an X above the knee
His mark given by Captain of the Breeze
A sloop of war in Caribbean was this
Massacred whole crews drunk as piss
The boys attitude so moved my heart
That I had to set him free from his part
Before I saw him he was the only one left to be hanged
Port Royals mob clawed and fanged
I set to watch when I saw how young he was
I had to do something for his cause
I bid the court give me custody immediately
They awaited the response from the Admiralty
The response was yes almost to late
For the executioner just removed the safety plank
He kicked and cried for a moment then released
With the knife of the kings lease
A bruise found its way around his neck as a reminder
For a life against the grinder
I sailed him back to London to learn a trade
And go to school for a decade
I later named him after my name kidd
Later to be known as William Kidd
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.
I quickly joined the Navy on June the 4th, 1943,
As soon as I graduated at 17, life was definitely to be;
I received boot training in the state of Maryland,
At Bainbridge, became a navigator noble and grand.
I was sent to Amphibious Training wet, phew wee,
At Little Creek in Virginia, where I got my crew,
Of different ranks including machinists as gunners,
The craft was 56-foot, our rations made us stunners.
But I was separated from my crew, went to Plymouth,
In England, placed on a Liberty ship used to house,
Replacement cargo for artillery that got destroyed,
Which was so much longer than the crafts deployed.
In Fahnouth England, I memorised Normandy maps,
Prepared and used a Reflectoscope to turn on the taps;
We were scared of poison gas when we hit Omaha,
I was quarantined on June 1st of ’44, needed mama.
We saved many from the crafts using cargo nets sublime,
But they were difficult to climb in the rough seas, crime,
A craft almost mounted the ship ‘cos of a high wave,
And always we had to be steely and very, very brave.
The bombs from the Nazi’s were the size of footballs,
And we painstakingly recovered many bodies, stalls,
From the water which had just beaten them cruelly,
And that first D-Day morning we were losing brutally.
The Germans hedgehogs, or bombs for the landing crafts,
Fired on us from a pillbox, but in my case American staff,
Took my attacking pillbox out, and I was just so grateful,
‘Cos it was causing me havoc ‘cos I almost felt too awful.
Luckily that night two German planes simply just avoided us,
After a few days we did hydrographic 3D printing work, suss,
For which I was commended, I contributed to today’s 3D printing
Then I lead the invasion of southern France, which was amazing.
The Panama Canal saw me on a rocket ship headed for Japan,
But the A-Bomb ended the war, and we went state-side to tan,
My Honourable Discharge was in March of ’46, and I was quick,
To get back to my peacetime activities, but never forgot the sick.
NEUER THE ACHILLES
Horse power?
Let the horses keep their power
Neuer power is now the toast of all
The day all cats chose their king
It was Tiger that first wore the crown
But Lion roared, bore his fangs
And bristled up his mane like Tsunami
In a jiffy he dethroned the Tiger
Then came the king of catch-
Whose ribs are breastplates
Whose hands are magnetic tongs-
Neuer the Achilles:it was him
That shamed the lion and won the crown.
Neuer the omniform
Massive rock at duty post ;
Egal where comes the bullet:
Left, right, corner or centre;
It comes from corner,
He coils on it like a python;
It comes from centre,
He broods ball like mother-hen;
When the gunners come closer
He unfolds himself like an Ostrich taking a flight
And exclusively ward them off
Like a mother-dog chasing intruders
Away from its puppies.
Daredevil the goalkeeper
Keel that keeps the ship afloat:
It dares the oceans and shuts them out
Says cargo hold is for smile and not for tear;
In the air he is a parachute
On the ground he is yak or cyclone
Open or close the net snores
The posts say, ‘it is holiday today’
The ball says, ‘ I am on safe hands today’
Only the gunners keep gnashing their teeth
The pains of stillbirths wet their eyes
Who shall take me to Deutschland ?
Who shall take me to Bayern- Muchen?
Let him that will take me to Neuer come now
I can’t wait to meet the Archilles.
Ade Kayode Adebayo
Jan. 2014
Yes it’s like that,
we are dealin’ with real fake facts,
dealin’ with smokers actin’ like smoke stacks,
livin’ face to ace with a gunner out in a pack-
dealin’ with cats,
and real hate acts,
in other worlds,
not countries with borders and backs.
Yes it’s like that!
Winning the Warner's over with shiny take backs,
givers of gonad's come home to be shoveled back!
New age drama solving all of the slaughter,
out on the ****,
with a new lover of money and ribs-
...it’s like this,
i’m a gunner but also a runner who’s fast as a swinging ax!
It’s like this...
I’m done with the bummers got to be funner than all that fake fact!
Just like I’ve done her,
now I am a lover and now I’ve gotta
hate that **** back!
They old, they breed, they lie, they attack!
So fake that,
so make that!
Come on and shun um’,
we’re a lot more than what is comin',
we have bits and pieces of whats fumblin',
and it’s all for us to make into somethin'!
To break glass!
To tap ass!
And learn about a world that’s the same as we made it act...
Here stands a fair beauty
Queen with poise and
Dignity.
The daughter of an
Erudite,an erudite herself
One of the three central
Spoke-persons in the
Assembly of law-givers.
The defender of the
Helpless,mother of the
Motherless. As fearless as
A lion,who dared the
Gunners in power,time
Had she spent in jail,
Thrown in by the most
Powerful.
One thought she would
Cower down,yet more
Resolute she became.
For stonewalls do not
Make a prison make.
She still the people's
Mouthpiece.
Champion of war on
Gender in-equality,a
Visionary leader,hope is
Rekindled-hearts rejoice,
Tears of joy pour freely as
She mounts the podium
Of power.
The craze
And chase,
The loud cry out
And our laughing out loud,
Should I call this madness,
Or over joyfulness?
A goal was thrown in by Kaka,
All fighting for the Oscar.
Emenike opened the game
As Mikel throws the stone.
My heart is rising,
And my legs are squeezing.
Goooaaa! Oh no!
That was so close!
For uniting us together,
Football is the way and no other
As I'm celebrating with a white man
Right here in the Etihad.
They'll say never work alone,
But alone they got to their home.
The nozzle of the gunners
Couldn't even get the runners.
Yet they come banner high again
We will win today o, Amen.
A bridge can crumble,
The devil also fumble,
But like the morning sun
Never missing her turn,
The super eagle will always soar
With white and green her colour.
Thierry Henry, he came back
got us a goal, quick as a flash
to help us win the match
I can gladly divulge, back of the net did bulge.
Thierry Henry Godlike preacher
Theo Walcotts brand new teacher
the tricks he's got, his delicate shot.
Play it, don't waste it
place it, don't lace it
grace it, embrace it.
Breathe the gunners, inhale them deep
Come may, could be top of the heap?
The cabinets full once more,
Thierry's boots are back in the door
Come on Arsenal we loudly roar!!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull
I’ve been working since I was twelve years old,
But my first on-the-books job
Was as a sailor in the US Navy,
Gunners Mate.
Six years and three Westpac deployments.
Fifty months of sea duty
Changed me for good and bad.
Over the years since,
I’ve had many terms of employment,
Both full and part-time.
My part-time jobs have included
Hanging wallpaper and painting houses.
Building stockade style fences.
Landscaping and more landscaping.
Cleaning commercial kitchen exhaust hoods.
I’ve been a receptionist at yoga studios,
A registered yoga instructor,
A certified personal trainer,
A high school cross country,
Wrestling, and track & field coach.
I’ve been a substitute teacher
At every grade level, K-12.
I’ve also been a supervisor of
Student teachers earning their
Master’s degrees in education.
Most recently, I work as a museum docent.
My full-time jobs have included
Bartender in a low-life country dive.
(Yes, I drank on the job.)
Laborer in a garment factory,
(Yes, I drank on the job.)
A refrigerated trailer factory,
(Yes, I drank on the job.)
And a lamp factory.
(It was too hot to drink anything but water on the job.)
I’ve engraved gift items in a mall kiosk.
Yes, I drank on the job.
I’ve worked at a day camp for disabled adults
And was a resident advisor in a facility
For profoundly disabled adults.
I’ve been a public-school custodian,
And a teacher of high school history and sociology,
My longest tenure at any job, by far.
My final full-time job
Was as a maintenance superintendent
In a seventy-building garden apartment complex.
I’ve also been a writer of fiction
Who draws from experience
Attempting to fashion a plausible tale.
Raiding hoards assemble to make the attack;
Aerodromes on high alert, we’ll fight them back.
Brave souls scramble to cockpits everyone;
Awaiting the final vector to where the deed is done.
Away boys! Away!
And off they take to meet their fate,
The dwindling few do not hesitate.
Some to return and some to not;
Together forward they meet the onslaught.
Sirens blare the target is sure,
To your guns lads! We’ll give’em a cure.
Barrage balloons aloft, we’ll keep’em up high,
The gunners are ready, waiting the spotter’s eye.
Run from your flat to the safe tube below,
Gas mask at the ready, you just never know.
The old man leads us in songs of good cheer,
Knowing all the while that our end could be near.
Bombs drop and the guns blaze,
Another neighborhood disappears with a haze.
The docks are burning a bright orange hue,
Damn you bloody bastards, our boys will take care of you!
Swirling trails against blue skies,
Belie the deadly dance taking place before our eyes.
Flaming wreckage, another early grave,
More mothers grieve, have we all gone insane?
Finally all clear, we creep from our boroughs,
Shattered buildings surround, but the Jack’s still unfurled.
Mr. Churchill walks the rubble to buck up our faith,
On the beaches, in the fields and in the streets he says,
We’re standing alone, but to persevere is our fate.
This one is for my dear friend Gladys. She was 11 and living in London during
the blitz.
Kokoda Efogi 1942....
The Japanese turned tail and headed north on twenty eighth September forty two. ...
They'd struggled round on mountains fought stopped near Moresby by the few. ...
Eighteen hundred went to stop ten thousand in the jungle mountains high. ...
Fought and skirmished over land in a rainforest never dry. ..
Our fresh Brigade now drove them off and followed as they ran, ...
in places high we'd count the cost where our mates died every man. ...
Near Efogi in a clearing up among the mountains high, ..
stopped to wonder at the scene, dead men round a circle lie. ...
All around a circle green, bloated rotten stinking high, ...
Japanese were piled up everywhere, by the dozen just to die. ...
So many died why came the thought? What killed them though they tried? ...
There in a pit two brave men fought, two Bren gunners fought and died. ...
Sat back to back to watch the clearing, even bullet riddled, soldiered on. ...
Slowly died with each bullet searing, fought till their last bullet fired and gone. ...
Two marksmen stayed upon the trail, let the wounded, get away, ...
Japanese in thousands were a coming, o'er the mountains narrow way. ...
2 Bren machine gun bullet spenders, deadly accurate this I say, ...
all around the bullets humming, squealing Japanese were turned to clay. ...
Kokoda trail held till they died, slowed the Japanese a little way, ...
though surrounded no surrender, at the time had death to pay. ...
21st Brigade men fought and died, two lives given on the day, ...
like Horatious at the bridge, didn't falter there to stay...
September 1942 two men were discovered near Efogi in New Guinea... My father Don Johnson of the 2/25th Btn. saw these two brave men had died fighting the thousands of Japanese... Don Johnson...
The Bren machine gun .303 caliber was so accurate that 2 to three bullets did take the top
of the head off your opposition soldier, if he popped his head up.
When these brave men died we were being pressured by overwhelming odds,
Up to 13,000 available Japanese troops were encircling each of the 3 battalions total 2,500 soldiers sent to stop them.
Constantly surrounding them in the mountains, forcing retreats ...