In the marshy wald von Teutoburg
Varus took his men
To quell a slight rebellion
Well, so it seemed to them.
—————
Three legions Varus took with him
Anno domini nine.
The woodland dense, so swampy
That they had to march in line.
—————
And with him rode Arminius
Chief of the Cherusci.
Equestrian, citizen with respect,
A knight of Rome was he.
—————
This Arminius whom Rome trusted,
He’d served her well for many years,
Went forth to lay an ambush
That left Caesar shedding tears.
—————
Hampered by the close terrain.
Drenched through and through by pouring rain.
The legionnaires, unknowing snared
By vengeful Gauls who, long prepared,
—————
Three legions with their eagles high.
Pushing through to make their way,
As rain pours down from lowering sky
And in the gloom those legions die.
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 4:58 PM UTC
Sleep laden eyes of weary Sun,
Whose lidded shadows tip the night,
While water gently lips the shore
And swoops the owl in whispering flight;
Small, twitching nostrils quest the air
And Daytime slides from out of sight.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 3:55 AM UTC
Old soldiers never die,
They just keep on marching by,
In ***** or by the right,
Their legions prove a wondrous sight
When viewed in memory.
But looking on with memory,
Shows only what we want to see.
And while illuminating youth,
It hides from us the actual truth,
Does memory.
It never shows the blood, the fear,
It obfuscates the anguished tear,
And as those shadows march on by,
Do we forget they had to die – to live
In memory?
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC
Once was a pussycat and an owl
Who went to sea in a boat.
But wind and wave and weather so foul,
And a boat without oars that left cat and owl
Without fur or feather, flannel or towel,
And then Nighttime swooped with an awful howl
And the boat refused to float.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
Time Expired and thus Unfettered
Like dusty files unopened on their shelves - serene and calm;
Behind locked doors these memories of war lived in my mind.
Distant images, long archived, evolved in Vietnam
But buried ‘neath the present of a very different kind.
But now those dusty files have tumbled to the ground.
Upended by the vigour of this fine new freedom I have found.
Without the shackles of that other life I find
The memories fresh and sometimes pleasant to my mind.
And so I take them up and dust them off these files long hidden.
Peruse each ancient, tattered memory page by page.
And let their content to my mind project unbidden
The flickering image of a long lost distant, youthful age.
And with these verses I have made for you, shaped by my pen, a light.
That you too might view the shadowed contents of my new found files.
Described between the lines of each is what it was to fight
A war, the grim visage of which was seldom wreathed with smiles.
But I conjure you look closely at these careful, recent woven lines of mine.
This tapestry conceals ideas that oft’ belie the written word.
Look underneath to seek the reason why my thoughts sometimes repine
Against a patterned camouflage which sometimes makes them seem absurd
Chimerical these hidden images that tumble on the edge of time?
Yes, but if you use the mirror of your own reality to construe,
To grasp the presence of that conflict these days almost always called a crime
Then might you judge these portions that I gladly offer you.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 6:23 AM UTC
Your a fool if you think that your men won't know
When you're lazy not zealous, you see.
For they then might decide that it’s best not to go
With you wherever might be.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 1:03 AM UTC
“Long Khan Province, 10 July 1969
The contact report, it stated..."
I remember Ray Kermode at Woodside.
He was sitting on the bed next to mine,
Sewing buttons on his shirt and wincing
At my ***** ***** song.
It was not so much the singing (which was loud)
But the stupid, foul, profanity which he hated.
Nowadays, I think I've changed but Ray hasn't;
Ray can't, he's dead.
And you will never, ever put to right that wrong,
But needs must carry it forever
With you in your head.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 6:33 AM UTC
The Ninth Battalion (Australia)
By Sun-filled day and frosty night,
O’er rugged hills and desert sand,
We learned to work as teams, to fight
In jungles of another land.
From every city, State and town,
All the lovely countryside,
Impelled by grim war’s cold, bleak frown,
Gathered we at fair Woodside.
And some of us were volunteers,
But mostly we young conscripts were,
With youthful hopes, ambitions, fears;
Young men’s dreams of love were there.
And lusts, for we weren’t choir boys,
Nor simpering wowser, nor old maid.
We searched for brawling, drinking joys
And chased the girls of Adelaide.
Oh Adelaide, what wondrous pubs,
The Rundle, Gresham (Mind you Roy?),
The Western, Finden, all were hubs
Of social, sinful, youthful joy.
But scarce the city trips sublime.
Beneath the awesome stars our home.
And Sun-bronzed we became with time,
Leigh Creek, Cultana, ours to roam.
At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.
Canungra’s forest, where chilled to bone
We learned to ambush and by sudden flare to ****
The Flinders Range, those hills of stone.
Shoalwater Bay did prove our skill.
And at the last and having passed our nation’s test,
(for some a final accolade)
And to that question answered yes,
We made farewell to Adelaide.
At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 2:51 AM UTC
Company Quartermaster Sergeant Tim Daly,
C. Company.
The 9th Battalion.
The Royal Australian Regiment.
...the final night of the exercise was devoted to augmenting Company funds:
That night-time by the flickering fire outside the gamblers' tent
Beneath the desert stars you spoke.
And I without the memory of a father
Listened to your words inspired
Until at last, and with the *** your vision finally broke
To lay me down into the ashes of the fire; so tired
That in the morning Sun,
Too blistered sore for walking out,
With you and all the rifle-company stores I was
Perforce retired.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 2:01 AM UTC
When Alfred burnt those ****** cakes
While hiding from the Dane.
He proved the fact that he who bakes,
While dreaming of much higher stakes,
If from that day-dream then awakes
Will find it's been in vain.
For that housewife, she who boxed his ears,
Can you believe her cheek?
Chased away his grand ideas
(when hurt, thought always disappears),
And then, in dudgeon, she shed tears
So, perforce he had to speak.
To her perforce to speak had he
To calm her angry mind.
Which he did so in all honesty,
He being not unkind.
And they looked about the kitchen for whatever they might find,
That angry housewife, hungry king, forever now entwined.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC