#poetryofservice
(A fresh poem echoing the weary humour and fatalism of old gunner ballads) “The Gunner’s Road” — after the traditional Gunner’s Lament. By LongJohn, in honour of the traditional Royal Artillery song.
The road was long before us,
and longer still behind,
with the guns trundling steady
like they had a mind of their own.
We cursed the mud,
laughed at the rain,
and shared what little warmth
a battered flask could offer.
But when the order came,
we stood to —
no grumbling then,
just the quiet pride
of men who knew their craft.
And though the world forgets
the ones who walked that endless road,
we remember each other.
That’s enough.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 6:02 AM UTC
We walked where the maps gave up,
where the wind had no manners
and the dust clung to your boots
like it meant to follow you home.
No brass bands, no speeches —
just the quiet nod of lads
who knew the weight of distance
and the price of being needed.
The guns were our heartbeat,
steady as old friends,
loud enough to remind the world
we were still there,
still holding the line
even when the line was thin.
Everywhere they sent us,
we left something behind:
a bootprint in the mud,
a joke whispered in the rain,
a promise kept in the dark.
And though the world forgets
the ones who fire from the shadows,
the guns remember.
They always do.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 6:07 AM UTC
"Legacy in the Stillness"
Silently mountains whisper,
Footsteps of the brave remain,
Shadows of lost hearts.
In the stillness, they breathe strength,
A legacy of honour.
"Lanterns Beneath the Waves"
Beneath the bright stars,
Sailors lost in endless waves,
Their dreams now at sea.
In the depths, their spirits rise,
Guiding lanterns in the dark.
"March of Memory"
Muddy boots on the path,
Marching through the weight of time,
Memories of pain.
Yet courage fuels each stride,
A strengthening their fight.
"Valour in the Wind"
Airborne spirits soar,
Clouds cradle the fallen's dreams,
Wisps of valour’s grace.
In each gust, their stories told,
Bravery etched in the sky.
"Stone of Honour"
Cannon fire echoes,
A mother's heart breaks in two,
Lost son on the field.
Yet she stands with pride and grace,
His name wrapped in honours stone.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 12:30 PM UTC
We walked where the maps gave up,
where the wind had no manners
and the dust clung to your boots
like it meant to follow you home.
No brass bands, no speeches —
just the quiet nod of lads
who knew the weight of distance
and the price of being needed.
The guns were our heartbeat,
steady as old friends,
loud enough to remind the world
we were still there,
still holding the line
even when the line was thin.
Everywhere they sent us,
we left something behind:
a bootprint in the mud,
a joke whispered in the rain,
a promise kept in the dark.
And though the world forgets
the ones who fire from the shadows,
the guns remember.
They always do.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 3:30 AM UTC