"gallipoli" poems
Here's to all my Aussie friends.
You fought with bravery and honor
at Kimberley, Passchendaele,
Gallipoli, Romani, Crete,
Tobruck, Milne Bay, Yongju
and even in Vietnam.
And I know why you did it.
Abounding in your back yards
were stalking cassowaries, spiders
that rot your flesh, invisible
but lethal jelly fish,
Coastal Taipan and Brown snakes,
not to mention saltwater crocodiles
Great White sharks, Stone Fish,
blue ringed octopi and
the odd Marble Cone Snail.
War must have seemed safe
compared to he horrors of home.
Here's to you mates. Fair Dinkum.
I would have been on the first
transport out, too.
~mce
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
An Aussie digger
killed in battle
but disinclined to die
returns to the front line
as a spectre
wearing a slouch hat
and a larrikin grin.
Draped in a tattered flag
he yells
'Remember Korea, lads
and Vietnam
and how we went
all the way
with Menzies and L.B.J.'
'Don't forget Gallipoli
men
or the fight for peace
with George
in Iraq and Afghanistan
against Al Qaeda
and the Taliban.
'Defeat the enemy
mates
to secure the future
as our heritage
of service
patriotism and pride
in U. S foreign policies.'
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
The movie speaks
In silence screams
That encapsulates the feeling of the moment.
A black and white
Scene plays out
And I see the sorrow pour.
The reflection of the many lives that costed during
The era
Reflects on the black and white dots
That move around on my screen.
Wilhelm.
******
Mussolini.
Gallipoli.
The Somme.
It's funny how they don't speak
But the black and white dots that
Dance
And flickers on my screen,
Tells the unfortunate story
Of the contextual history
That lies behind,
The black and white dots that
Strafes on my screen.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
Called to war. Sent across.
To lands abound and far enough.
The Anzacs were never lost.
Our hearts spread with pride
And glory.
Fell were they at Gallipoli, who at beaches, landed wrongly.
The waters deep and bullets afloat they fought with might of lions and hearts of steel.
But in all they won and enemies fell, the water calmed.
They Were Called Home.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Paul Bunyan is up and at 'em
with his trusty **** wacker, slicing
through to the other side
of suburban nightmare. Zeus,
in barreling breath, holds low
his mighty leaf blower.
An American hero and Greek god,
hell bent on getting what's
greener on the other side, begin their
Battle of the Lusher Lawn.
Paul's Babe, in her royal blueness,
is star-studded and singing, "Glory Glory"
as she banners the front porch
in red and white stripes. Zeus' sister-bride
Hera, turns a goat on spit, thinking,
"these Americans know nothing about
good barbeque." Later, the two will be
promising recipes over the side fence
of their baba ganoush and ambrosia salad.
The boys will be reminiscing Gallipoli,
slapping each others' backs,
and choking back tears.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
Those who fell at Gallipoli
For those who arrived at Gallipoli, for those who fell at dawn
For those who fell at Gallipoli,
together we shall mourn.
Strong in heart and mind those soldiers had to be,
But they kept our country free,
those who fell at Gallipoli.
Now poppies grow among their graves, those who fell at Gallipoli, those who fell at dawn,
Their memory shall not die, for they shall live on in our hearts,
We will remember them you and I.
By Mollie Spencer
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
lamenting songs are sung
for the fallen men
on shores far flung
their mournful strains
e'er permeate the air
with sorrowful refrains
the miasma of war's stench
stays imprinted on the memory
of valorous men dying
in the rat infested trenches of Gallipoli
at the going down of the sun
our hearts shall recall
the soldiers of courage
who expired in war's ghastly pall
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
THE SOLDIER
Billy Clark was seventeen
When he went off to war.
He kissed his mum and dad goodbye
And walked out through the door.
He kissed his girl at the station
And wiped away her tears.
He said that he’d be back again
If it took a thousand years.
He headed for the trenches,
For Afghanistan.
Gallipoli, The Falklands.
Beirut and Vietnam.
He set off for Dunkirk,
Agincourt and Troy.
Passchendaele would make
A man out of a boy.
A million Billy Clarks
Have gone away to war.
Old men sit and shake their heads.
They’ve passed this way before.
He was in the thick of it
Right from the very start.
But Billy was a brave boy
With a patriotic heart.
Billy fought his hardest
But he was in a fix.
These were guns and tanks he faced
Not childhood toys and sticks.
Now, Billy was no coward,
But he was scared as hell.
No boy should have to bury
His comrades where they fell.
It took a thousand years
For Billy to return
And still the burning question is:
When will we ever learn?
When will this crazy world unite
And watch each others’ back?
When media screams the headline:
‘GREEN MEN FROM MARS ATTACK!!!!’.
A million Billy Clarks
Have gone away to war.
Old men sit and shake their heads
They’ve seen it all before.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 5:00 PM UTC
Gallipoli 1915
I was there
George said
blood bath
that was.
Bodies
in the water
on land.
Many
of my chums
went down.
He sat
in the bath chair
as I ran the water
for his bath.
Churchill's idea
it was
right disaster.
I helped him undress
as after his stroke
he was paralysed
down his left side.
That photograph
by my bed
that chap
in uniform
is me
and my late wife
we married before
I went off to war
I came back
others didn't.
Once he was undressed
I helped him
into the bath
and set him down
and gave him
his flannel
soaped up.
Thanks Benny
he said.
He washed
his neck
and face
and other parts
of his body
he could reach.
I washed his hair
and rinsed it.
Never forget that
blood bath
he said
staring into space
bodies everywhere.
He closed his eyes
as I combed his hair.
Not a scratch on me
not through
the whole war
lucky ******
he said
unlike those
other poor buggers
the dead.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
High on an olive grove
overlooking Aegean blue
rests a punctuated thought
a life caught, media caesura
a breath | paused | eternally
Hover above a whistle
memory's wind, it blows
sunburnt reminiscence
where the gods sequestered
Muses interment softly glow
Why the folly, in this--
sending a poet to war
Before charging the shore
struck a fatal kiss in Gaul
felled by a bullet of fate.
How does one farewell
a flame thus whisked away
or have the deities misruled
a more gallant death for him
on the shores of Gallipoli
Perhaps it is as it should be
your life as brief as poetry
on breeze kissed Skyros *****
under shady windows and
fragrance of sage and thyme
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
The self-imposed comma
Has eluded me
For decades.
It eludes me now
To this day
And I wonder:
When will I be given a chance?
Or will I take it myself
Hoping not to repeat
Churchill's attempt
In vain glory
To conquer Gallipoli?
But first off,
How do I correct
My own mistakes?
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 12:38 AM UTC