We passed French fields littered with steaming rolled hay
somewhere near the city of Verdun.
Here rain-weary sunflowers stood in ranks
and wouldn't even raise their faces to the sun.
Wilted green leaf shoulders on hunched old men,
all staring down at the mud on their toes;
or perhaps they were in mourning for their comrades
who’d fallen between the shabby rows.
Look up! Look up! The clouds are fleeing
and summer declares its victory.
Sunflowers should not be so sad.
Oh look up, little men, and smile for me.
These fields have known too much grief of old.
Lift up your faces and turn them gold.
whistles blare
gun powder in the air
lead pours overhead
I can't wait to feel my bed
I line up my rifle
breathe and squeeze
my orders are to strife
I run empty so I freeze
the quit nights are haunted
this conflict was unwanted
one more tally added; I can't mask it
make sure they spell it right on my casket
Disgruntled troops fall in line
when the head honcho appears
Long-time rebels go soft in the mouth
Seems they now value their paychecks
as they retreat to the womb
of a company experiencing a boom
Now this is my definition of love
It's much like wrestling in the mud
You get down and dirty
And say things quite flirty
Then it all comes together with a thud
You scream bloody murder together
Promise your undying love forever
Roll over and whisper
The name of her sister
Then you realize that wasn't too clever
She pummels your head without mercy
You attempt to defend against her fury
You start to see rainbows
And a bunch of pretty halos
A ferocious little dynamo this girlie
Well eventually you recover your senses
And are able to put up some defences
You plant a big smacker
On this sweet li'l attacker
Then it's back to love in the trenches
War
War is real
It’s bad for your health
They send you to death
And embellish their wealth
War is necessary
The propagandists rev you
Til you hate the scum
Who have families like you
Sister, wife and mum.
You’ll fight for freedom
While you do as your told
The blood in your veins
Becomes icy cold.
Your name on a monument
Your wife touches the letters
Your kids cry at night
Becoming bed wetters
War is real
A trench full of ghosts
A bomblet of agony
Turns your skin into toast.
David Cox 19/01/24
Join up and enlist Kitchener said, the Army will be such fun
For King and country, make your mother proud son.
However life at the minute, it ain't that good
I've stood on a mine, losing lots of blood.
I've pins and needles now, feeling rather faint
I need urgent help or my prospects ain't exactly great.
help arriving now, trying to stop the bloody flow
off to the field hospital now; lets Go Go Go!
Fly me home please into the arms of my lover
if I'm back at home I know that I'll recover.
Time for me to leave now, time to say goodbye
homeward bound tomorrow it's time for me to fly.
My comrades aren't so lucky, tomorrow they're going 'over the top'
they won't be able to turn back, they won't be able to stop.
I may now only have one leg, but I'm the lucky one
tomorrow I won't be staring down the barrel of a gun.
37 this Saturday
My expectations come into play
Thinking I'd be in another place
By this time
I've had great Love and great Loss
Been broken down at a heavy cost
No one to pull me back to shore
Drowned the sorrows I couldn't ignore
Worked in the trenches, rescued friends
Still feeling lonely in the end
No little Ones to call my own
A beautiful queen on an empty throne
Pink roses on a table bright
Remind me of a passion slowly dying
Please can't I have just one more try
To have a happy life
Out of the mud,
springs of solid souls come forth
smeared by the dirt,
but not stained with the stigma
in the vile sparks of inhumanity,
a wellspring of humanity is birthed
putting smiles on furrowed souls,
fiercely putting out the darkness
I am unabashed about the trenches,
from there staggering ingenuity sprouts!
vast night.
i was lost again in a nightmare
inside myself,
the most threatening of places.
but I haven't been there before, I asked.
I mean,
what the hell am I still doing here,
sitting in the company of anguish,
drinking alcohol from the synapses
at the table of the mind,
whispering secrets in my trenches,
while the bullets of the world,
this enemy so absurdly real,
comb my hair?
“Ukraine, Winter of Discontent”
The many winters of our discontents
Lie in trenches with the dead.
Mothers in pain.
Boys lost in vain.
Nothing plainly gained.
What empire will repent?
Saving souls from Hells bloodied gate.
Piled high in trenches is their fate,
As priests lament their deaths
A crown will not relent.
What cause is there so prodigious?
Slaughters all who differ?
Lays waste to metropolises?
Kills without remorse?
From where cometh this hate?
Through what gate?
What kind of man
Leaves babies seeking breath?
Women without life?
Boys piled high in trenches?
Empires laid to waste,
Many without faces,
Many without places,
All for what?
Pride?
Envy?
Jealously?
One man.....
44 million seek redemption.
Let him
Lie in trenches with the dead.
The many winters of our discontents. 3/8/2022
soldier
and medic,
in the thick of war;
his first-ever deployment.
frozen
with fear
amid intensifying gunfire;
crouching down
in the foxhole,
trembling
friendly fire
whizz back and forth.
blood-soaked casualties of war
litter the battlefield,
all around him
as he treats
the gravely wounded.
all too often,
helplessly
watching some
in his care succumb
to gunshot wounds.
sea of human lives lost,
unbearable;
a harrowing scene!
the ugliness of war,
he's seeing
for the very first time.
in the trenches,
in the middle of a war
he doesn't believe in,
thinking...
"What the hell did I get myself into?"
Date written: 09/08/2020
It's easier to hate than to love.
Love takes time to nurture.
It entails consistent, reflective, delicate dialogue.
From the trenches of hard times comes mutual respect.
Hate is a flash bomb
a nail to the face
a mindless flash mob
a bloody lip
instant gratification
a raw stroke to the ego
The silence of indifference
Dependency painted in black and blue.
With love, you must walk through brushfires
to get to the other side.
It is a cleansing by fire, and it's worth every little burn.
“Lay still, don’t move” were the thoughts in his mind,
When the enemy shot overhead,
He demanded he not move a muscle at all,
Else he’d wind up being all dead,
And he lay there alone, isolated from harm,
Not attracting a bullet his way,
With snap ricochets of invisible dots,
Flying outside every day,
Hours to days to weeks walked on by,
Till the coughing of bullets slowed on down,
When he dared to raise his head from his trench,
To see all over his town,
The bodies of people, death laying still,
More dead than he’d ever seen,
After the war of “us” versus “it”,
After the war with COVID nineteen.
Entered into Julie Liegh Quarantine contest written first week of quaranteen in Australia
the match seems
to be going well
but what the hell
she just pulled
my hair from
behind and
mind you
i want
to
fall for you
like a soccer
player does to
get a flag against
the other team Member
Smells and Stinches in the Trenches
Have never before wrote poem like this;
Hope my thought and point never miss;
What life meant;
To heaven sent;
About a lonely life of either hers or his.
Seems to be so many smells and stenches,
Ending up existing in long terrible trenches;
Much pain felt,
And death dealt,
Off soldiers' hope for life each one pinches.
Life will no longer exist where they were,
And God came up with an incredible cure;
I will be Me;
Set souls free;
In heaven, He will give you a great tour.
Jim Horn
Jim Horn
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