One cold November, in the not-too-distant soon
the echoes of these shores will ever silent be
as fewer come each year to where their pals were strewn;
on Omaha, among the rest of war’s debris.
Fewer again will hear cannons roar, a rifle’s snap,
a bullet’s thwack, the screams of pain, the corpsman call.
And yet they come, the few, in regimental cap
across from far and wide, to stand, salute, recall.
One cold November, when the last of them has gone
will we still hear the echoes of the silent shore?
Will we remember what it is for us they won?
Or is it just the closing of another door?
a statement in their freedom of expression
the verdant undergrowth –
a green carpet, indispersed with yellow, white and rose flowers –
leaning away from the regimental lines of the centre lane of poplars
the tree trunks, a whimsical hue of lilac
a profound blend of renewal, early love, and spiritual wisdom
in the overall aesthetics
a contrast in colour on Newton’s colour wheel
the female figure fuses with the shades of the undergrowth
whereas the male figure mimics the upright form of the poplars
the rushed brushstrokes
a hurried comment on
echoes of social construct
then and
now
Let all the war hawks
And war hungry
World leaders
Be conscripted
To stand on the front lines
To satisfy their souls
Thirst for war
In straight
Regimental lines
As the world
Hears their whines
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Foundation of the piece.
Would the thirst for war have a different narrative, if those advocating for it, served on the front lines?
.
The Guildhall clock chimes
Eleven times this special day,
A great silence descends as
The two minutes tick away.
On parade at the Cenotaph,
An old man among old men
(Where did the years go for
In my mind I’m young again):
Not in best battledress
Or even Regimental Blues
But I’m booted and suited
With not quite bulled shoes,
And the old drill moves come back
So i manage to get them right
But age won’t quite let me stand
To attention, back ramrod straight.
Mixed in with the younger ones we old
Men marched with swagger and pride
Through the applause of the crowds,
Who lined the streets on either side.
For each of us in our way
Have walked that special walk
And we all still today
Can talk that special talk.
With pride and emotion we accepted
From those crowds at the parade
On behalf of those long dead
Recognition of sacrifices made.
I shall not march again, this
Time I just needed to appear
To show my respect in this
One Hundredth Anniversary Year
The brazen wind flows through the naked trees,
where multitudes of scrawny fingers attached
to stout limbs conduct the aria.
the trill of the dawn
awakes the sedulity…
a wee tad foisty
With each sunrise a regimental instinct, as the craw of
the crow delivers the day, when as the lone Bugler
at his post, reveille resounds upon a torrent stream.
the chill of winter
initiates spiral breath…
fruit rots on the ground
The tempest from the Southern Ocean evokes nakedness
within this place, destroyer of all that was verdant, yet an
act of kindness, to ready life for spring to live once again.
through the morning mist
air is turning icy blue…
the tide rushes in
© Harry J Horsman 2022
So, the regimental adjutant is to command 3rd Company
As we escort three million francs to Puebla?
Leave it to the general to trust such a fortune
To a band of misfits led by a staff lackey
Who can’t even shuffle cards, hampered as he is
By that ridiculous wooden hand.
Well, I just hope the good captain’s prick
Isn’t characterized by splinters.
We’re likely to get a good screwing
Before we accomplish this mission.
Where once the mighty timid
Flanders soldier shook
Bathed in foriegn mud underfoot
All but one and two a man
Hard fought and pressed with bayonets clenched in hand abreast
expedient beating pumping chest
Side by side shoulder deep
To breach to cross go over top
To run and face a hail of rapid bullets
And fall beside my brethren brother's
called selflessly to arms
For to return name unknown
With all and but medal to hang
and place my life and times upon
Heroic not in death and historic
battles rolled out come
rememberance day for poppy
sales
But rather in the blood of gallant
resplendent regimental fellow
soldiers saved
Who regail the the tales and
uphold the memories and names
of those solent brave
To whom they owe their own
salvation and lives to this day to
To them we say
We kneel
We bow
We must
We shall salute
Lest we forget
Unless forget we lest
The debt of gratitude yet still not paid
Is the price of peace
Is death and war
(December-January))
The brazen wind flows through the naked trees, where multitudes of scrawny fingers attached to stout limbs conduct the aria.
the trill of the dawn
awakes the sedulity
a sense of fragrance
Each perpetual morning a regimental instinct, drives along the day, when as the lone Bugler at his post, reveille resounds upon the streaming torrent.
the chill of winter
initiates spiral breath
fruit rots on the ground
The tempest from the Southern Ocean provokes nakedness within this place, destroyer to all that was verdant, yet an act of kindness? To ready life for spring to live once again.
through the morning mist
air is turning icy blue
the tide rushes in
© Harry J Horsman 2019
I say black
You say white.
I say day
You say...
night.
I say red
You say green.
I say dead
You say...
unseen
unscene unpathic unpassionate
I say delusional
You say illusional
I say too judgmental
You say...
left-brain regimental
in-between demented and cemented
I sing integrity
You dance...
alacrity.
I hope eternally
You faith...
diurnally
empathically expathologically unpathed
Win/Win Lose/Lose Win/Lose
I march
in Business As Usual
You fly
between Health And WealthUnUsual.
I watched Shulamate dance, swirling, whirling
my intoxicated mind fast twirling.
Flame of Setif, Algieria burning
great lust deep within as I was drinking.
Legionnaire of “Sidi Bel Abbes”, bless
“Légion étrangère” with proper clean dress
Second Company, “Rien n'empêche” profess
Regimental sign: “ Nothing Prevents” yes
Music played poor ears with twanging sweet sound
Those beguiling notes making me now sway round,
beating rhythm, gripping me, on soul pound.
.She now made her “pièce de résistance”, and
pulling veil aside, then shows “derrière” bend.
“Vivi France,” “le coup de grâce”, my end.
Standing in Dad's private empire,
every corner echoes early memories,
his essence tied up in a cache
of plant bulbs sitting in a box.
The light bulb hangs lifeless at the flick
of its switch, drained of all its energy
long ago, just like Dad.
The world was kept at bay
by dirty windows; bringing him peace
and quiet at the end of a day filled
with unfiltered, industrial noise.
On the bench his reading glasses rest
upon a pile of old newspapers, reading
yester - years news. And a box of plasters lay
next to a hammer, proving Dad's imperfections.
And that lingering aroma of tobacco
that gave endless hours of contemplative
smoke, wrapped around his pipe.
Whilst a broom stands idle in a corner,
regimental and heartless,
ready to sweep away
tied together scenes
of essence and soul.
He's never coming back.
Echoes are all that remain
of a decent man and loving father.
Squadron leader to his Sergeant.
Another fatality Felicity,
another regimental letter of commiseration,
another space to type in with a name a rank
another space to enter our lives,
on this the darkest of days.
He was my friend Felicity,
an old school chum; we joined up together
for the cause; for dear old Blighty
naively for the thrill.
Here, the earring he wore around his neck
soon to be reunited with the one
his sweetheart holds most dear,
her tatty old airline ticket, also soon to be reunited
with his the one she holds, a memento
of their first meeting on a flight to Paris ‘38’.
Sergeant! Empty your ashtray it’s disgusting.
© Harry J Horsman 2014
PAY TO PLAY
Playgrounds and parks as children freely play
Voices raised in excitement – beautiful day
Slides, swings and colorful jungle-gyms
Happy-go-lucky, light hearted they brim
Adolescents planning a weekend ahead
Finally a break from regimental brigaded dread
Nightclubs and parties, dates determined to pursue
Popularity a price slowly uncovered—lost virtue
Responsibility in adulthood arrives without warning
Marriages, mortgages—apprehensions start dawning
Climbing corporate ladders-- morale reaching height
Freedom, light-heartedness—play comes at a price
Copyright©-- April 2013 Kim van Breda
The salient drew his mind to the terrors of the day,
and the stink of the long dead buried in the mire.
The creeping barrage sought him hiding in his clay,
found him there and surrounded him in searing fire.
Beneath the wounded trenches his new comrades lie,
broken and dismembered in their regimental symmetry.
And his eyes look on in wonder as such brave men die,
to suit the whims of government and evil serendipity.
Each breath now inhaled brings the horror of the fight,
each movement in his shallow an enemy closer still.
But salvaion comes not before the fading of the light,
and vengeance holds his mind in its readiness to kill.
The crimson rivulets flow slower and the pain is eased,
'mid the weeping, sleeping soldiers and the new dead.
With seeping cordite and gas the god of war is pleased,
while the one remaining guardian cowers in his dread.
'Bring the night, bring the night' he prays in his fear,
as the bombs cascade around him in his clay hollow.
'Let me live and i will make it clear, and tell the truths
and the lies to those who follow!!!'
Power and Form
Are the two elements of a human life
Our words are sweet and sometimes sour
However it’s a deadly trace throughout the human race
We say yes too often to satisfy our so-called rational minds
Is the life of a poet/poetess more fulfilling than a farmer?
Are we the expression of nature?
Or victims of a regimental affiliations
We are as you know impossible and unpredictable
Because we all are crazy species
Power and form
There is no more secret society
The secret of man is publicize under watchful eyes
The world looks into our families’ photos
Looking for the perfect quota,
As each and everyone one of us partake in online revelry
Like an disciplinary cavalry
However, within our soul lies the truth.
I lost one year, one birthday
I rebirth and lost my power and position
Atlas! I am in the lower realms
Now I am in heaven
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