Long World war ii Poems
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There aint any angels in foxholes,
Jock Grey once said to me.
He was looking at a different scene
Than what we could both then see.
Just tension and maybe boredom
And expectation among the boys,
Just waiting for the action,
Waiting for the noise
That soaks into your being
Once it all kicks off again;
Then it’s all action and panic
Shouting and screaming men.
There’s no glory down in foxholes
Ask any man who’s been there
God and King and Country, no
Let me live is all you care
And whether it’s hot or cold
Dry or wallowing in mud
Only one thing is certain
You’ll see lots of blood.
There ain’t no pride and glory
Just a sense of desolation;
If there is a god he aint gonna
Just back one lot of nations.
He’s probably packed his bags
Closed heaven down in haste,
Sickened by the carnage;
The awful bloody waste.
Perhaps that awful god
Hangs his head in shame
That they dare to do this killing
In his honour and his name.
Let the fountain pen warriors write
Of war’s glory and war’s pride
How many have seen a foxhole
Let alone been down inside
I could see his shoulders heave
See the blankness in his gaze
Feel the raw emotion before
He came back from those days.
No there aint no angels in foxholes.
I wish they’d get that right.
Now whose round is it lads?
The beer’s bloody slow tonight.
R.I.P. Jock - survived WW2, died in a train crash late 1960's.
We enjoyed many Mess Nights and beers together.
O Quintessence!
That which makes us, shapes us,
Through the dirty day
From dust to dust –
Did they know, when they unleashed you, what they wrought?
Stellar eternity condensed in cataclysmic instant,
Iota wreaking death, and smaller blasphemy –
Brief man stealing star-power against the night.
Did he know, when he died the little death, what he was doing?
Not you, for true, but great symbolic father in the garden;
Death brings death, seed seed, life life – the third will last
Then may we live in harmony with you, O fundament.
May we find a link that harms not you nor us.
The wild fruit we may not see again,
And End awaits he who tastes the tamed –
Somewhere in between, then, and let it, like a pomegranate,
Sweet us, bind us to it, that me dwell our time
No less, no more.
They take a position that very few see.
But every military man and woman must agree.
They occupy the most important role.
The guardian of the whole household.
When people go to combat, they are there too.
Nothing falls apart because they are the glue.
Displaying a strong front for the sake of the kids.
They set a great example in everything they did.
Some had to show calm when they got the call.
Explaining to the children mommy or daddy sacrificed all.
Picking up a life after fallen honors have been shown.
They are left to forge ahead and in most cases all alone.
The support for the one who served has now faded away.
Yet they and their children must go on day after day.
I’ve seen wives so devoted laying by a veterans side.
Forsaking food for themselves just to be there when he died.
It was the wife that would call me daytime or at night.
To take care of their loved one, they’d put up a fight.
Some women old or frail barley able to walk on their own.
But would not dishonor the Vet by placing them in a home.
Some would contact me when their beloved Vet passed away.
And say they are suffering is there help for them today?
All across this country or even the world I don’t see.
A plaque or monument for the Vets wife and family.
America, don’t you think it’s about time for them to be honored too.
The American families that sacrificed for everyone of you.
Those gone on must look down with sad tears in their eyes.
Seeing we have honored them, while honor for their family is denied.
Elizabeth Alexandra Mary was born,
And destined to be Queen of England;
But oh, she is just a woman in reality,
With children, grandchildren she loves.
Many of us in Canada really adore her,
She has visited 23 times;
We gave her gifts,
Two black beavers, a forest of maples.
She put the beavers in the London Zoo,
Was a girl guide, joined the army too;
So long live the Queen because I really like her.
She has launched about 23 ships so far,
Did you know she is a keen photographer;
Loves dogs, horses, swans, and pigeons,
She likes clothes and jewels, girly things.
Did you know she speaks fluent French,
Has twitter and facebook;
Sends personal emails,
During World War II she learned mechanics.
She can drive without a license nor a plate,
There are many facts but these are just fun;
So long live the Queen because I really like her.
______________________
May 7, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Destined To Be Queen
Copyright Protected, ID 05-670-882-07
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Long Live The Queen
sponsor, Judy Konos, Judged 2015
First Place
Whar art mine fervent zeal for Marx Brothers?
While figuratively trout fishing
for ideas to write about
analogous (hook, line and sinker)
idea wormed itself into mind with clout
moment of awareness arose
without shadow of doubt.
As a long haired pencil necked teenage geek
zany Harpo, Groucho, Chico ranked as idols
mine most favorite slap stick until I reached
cusp of early adulthood, yet of lately uptick
regarding said comedic acts unexpectedly a
rose, spurring me to revisit adolescent mem
rubble entertainers overarching unstoppable
nostalgic ache for their nonpareil antics did
pang ping pong within mine corporeal esse
Scents trademarked and christened Matthew
Scott Harris, somewhat alleviated watching
courtesy Internet random You Bet Your Life
momentarily experiencing giddiness bursting
with laughter - shy kid relishing hearing quip
lightning fast barbs oft imitated sporting his
greasepaint moustache nsync with cigar size
of small walking stick renown world over an
American iconic figure (+entire motley crew)
lively bunch post World War II boys groomed
since birth begat Minnie Marx (born Miene
Schönberg, 9 November 1864 or 1865 – 13
September 1929) mother and manager of the
Marx Brothers, a family of vaudevillians,
Broadway and film actors, she dominated
band of five boisterous and hilarious brothers
who dominated silver screen more'n nearly 3
4ths century ago sired by patriarch Sam Marx.
No particular rhyme nor reason explains why
aforementioned nitty gritty personal trivia thy
actually more accurately & specifically yours
truly metaphorically unexpectedly did qualify
as teetotaling poetaster to craft poem well nigh
acknowledge inexplicable passion regarding my
heartfelt affection constituting zany wily troupe
linkedin with baker's dozen films iterated wild
3 ringed circus antics did all these years schtick
well lodged within me noggin + gamut of stars
whose career launched during quaint silent film
era albeit (Betzwood, one time, between 1912
and 1924), one of the largest film studios in the
world located in downtown Philadelphia and
their studio lot in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania,
right next to the park, I kid ye not, and... take
look see for yourself by visiting following link.
https://americasbesthistory.com/
spotlight2017-11.html
He wore a leather bomber jacket and a redskin hat and would engage with people where ever he was at. He wore two hearing aids that often whistled like a kettle and as he aged out in our three homes he did settle. A world war II vet he served in the navy and once out he married and they had three babies. Dad had been a lawyer and eventually became a judge. He was not a snooty person and seldom held a grudge. Dad was always most particular about where he chose to eat, only frequenting four star restaurants with the more elite.
At church his voice would bellow as he sang out every hymn. Most days he'd burst into a song if he felt the whim. Dad had an Irish temper but wasn't easily provoked, in order to get it simmering it had to be stoked.
Even in his older years he was still a flirt and would turn his attention to a pretty face or leggy skirt. Dad had a strong work ethic and worked til age 75 and would probably still be working now if he was alive.
At age 81 as he lay counting sheep, my dad gently slipped away, dying peacefully in his sleep. HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL THOSE GREAT FATHERS OUT THERE
The Men are scared Sir
But a word from you would allay
there fears
They wonder if she can make the trip ?
Will she bring us all home safely ?
Can she withstand this perilous
mission into whence we journey ?
We believe and place our faith in you we stand 100% behind you to a Man
So unto Gods great sky and hands this
tarmac runway and Aeroplane thrust
Fate is causing butterfly turbulence
in hollow stomachs humming to the
backfire of Rolls Royce engines
Twitching , Scratching , Jumping
Blood and Heart Thumping
Right Lads
Any last thoughts
Final Checks complete
Let's get this over and done with
And make it home as quick as possible and in 1 piece
Otherwise see you on the other side
It's been 1 hell if a ride
It's been a privilege and honor Boys
Glide on the wing then bank to the left
Dive with the wind then bank to the right
Soar on the cloud and feel the sky
So many unanswered questions why?
See the enemy's cloud and turn to fight
Picture that love you had in the corner of your eye
Adrenaline surge in the roar of the stride
Pierce the air with steel, give them nowhere to hide
Hear the gnashing teeth under stone white eyes
Strain the body with 'G', feel the tension cry
Dodge and weave, blank out thoughts on life
Fight with all you have in this outnumbered dog fight
Hero you are, hero you will always be
One of the bravest few who saved your country.
the stillness of peace
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone. She had gone to war at a time when women didn’t. Took her skilled compassion and knowledge of emergency triage with her, seen the worst of what war could do to the human body and psyche. She returned home quietly to resume her life, fall in love, marry, have a family. She carried many secrets with her to the end. Her family wept at her passing as did a small group of elderly women, strangers who shed tears for reasons of their own. Fellow soldiers now entrusted with her secrets.
Time took her family away. Vines crept over the hidden graves. Soft teardrops of passing angels wore away the stone face. History faded into the bindings of unread books.
cold breath lingers
flags wave in the distance
the stillness of peace
8/4/2016
Submitted to – Camouflage Me A Poem – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Broken Wings
Theme 1
He stands alone, gun in hand
Amongst his comrades in a God forsaken land
Bullets fly like pouring rain
As in the distance the bombing starts again
His water canteen shot full of holes
In his boots his feet feel like red hot coals
All that marching through the night
A sorry bunch in the moon so bright
The order comes from up the line
Charge straight and true
Now those in charge now know what to do
Our intrepid hero puts his life on the line again
In the muck and bullets, the blood, the pain
Onward they rush over hill and dale
No way have they wanted this charge to fail
Bullets fly, cannons roar
No peace amongst the blood and gore
Where will he be later, heaven or hell?
It’s onward's and upwards so who can tell