"hamel" poems
The death of the Newfoundland Regiment
They attacked after the Hawthorne mine was blown
But it never saved them
Newfoundland boys then crossed the line
And death was there to claim them
Most never made it to the starting trench
Now choked with dead and dying
For just four hundred yards away
German machine guns were barking
There is a place called Dead Tree
Where we were not to tread
For it now marks the place
Of so many Newfoundland dead
Beaumont Hamel now the resting place
Of boys so far from home
Beaumont Hamel now the place
Where heroic Newfoundland ghosts
Will ever roam
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
8yrs young
lo0000nnnnnnnnggggggggg
thick shiny blue black hair
Air Force Papa wanted a Wash N Wear
He wanted mija* with Dorthy Hamill hair
So I was ordered to March down the street
to Emilias Holy Carport
Emilia La Bautista Mexicana*
She knew no english but she knew Jesus
She'd cut your hair and save your soul
That day i requested un "Dori Hamel" Cut
She smiled and charismaticly said Amen! Te vas a ver muy bonita*
Her holy * tijeras snipped
my hair glided to the cement floor like feathers off angels wings
She made me look right
she made me look left
and when i looked up...
I HAD A MULLET
my tears came down
because of my Dukes of Hazzard crown
and I marched home to Dixie
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
Wet skies
Grey dawn
Blankets the coast.
Black rocks
Sea foam
Triggers the most
Atlantic applause,
An encore to those
Just hearty enough
To make a life on The Rock.
And to answer the call,
Between stone cracks,
Moss roots,
And squalls,
A garden was planted
Where nothing
Had grown
Before.
Before...
Before the Gardener came
The coast was a love-lettered painting,
A bouquet to the sun,
Orange, red, and yellow flattery
Through living imitation.
"Seek ye first the kingdom of God,"
Said the sign
On the gate
At the edge of St Johns.
"But I think I've finally found it,"
Said the man
Creeping silent
With his too sharp sheers
Cutting flowers
Uninvited. -
- Everyone's front lawn
A memory
Of what united
Them for two score years.
****** hands dropping pedals on his way to the shore,
"Don't worry," said the man,
"I don't want to come back,
With any luck," he said again,
"I think this should be enough."
As he placed in the arrangement
A note that read,
"Je suis
Désolé.
Bitte fragen Sie nicht
Für mehr."
100 years ago, July 1st, 1916, the entire Newfoundland and Labrador regiment was killed at Beaumont-Hamel, during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. Of 780, only 68 reported for roll-call the next day.
After 40 some years of having no military of their own, they had mustered up a unit of volunteers to support the war effort. 90% of them never made it through their first engagement.
Canada Day isn't just about celebrating.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
In the silence of atrocity she grieve
the ache she procured on Saturday eve,
oh she grieves.
so kind, serene he was at first
when she met him on Hamel's street.
would dress pink
and hairs so neat
would live time with him.
slowly, nicely, time
edged.
''I, will marry you and save your heart with me''
he pledged!!
as they lay in serenity.
moon and sun and stars gazing their love
the continuous curve that won't over,
but then came the wind so hard,
hours stunned it
A Saturday eve
the orange love turned into a clover.
he became frenzied and fierce
voices flying up and decisions pierce.
her beauty turned red,
swollen mouth and cut hairs,
shouting stories and crying nights.
oh, how the crushed dreams and
horror bites.
made one lass,
mum, afraid and hurt.
now the nights are dried.
the sun ignorant.
he left.
Alone in a dark spot, silence
silence every air
and In the silence of atrocity she grieve
the ache she procured on Saturday eve,
oh she grieves..
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
Come Laughing Home at Twilight
Beaumont-Hamel, 1916
And, O! Wasn’t he just the Jack the Lad,
A’swellin’ down the Water Street as if –
As if he owned the very paving stones!
He was my beautiful boy, and, sure,
The girls they thought so too: his eyes, his walk;
A man of Newfoundland, my small big man,
Just seventeen, but strong and bold and sure.
Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?
Don’t tell me he was England’s finest, no –
He was my finest, him and his Da,
His Da, who breathed in sorrow, and was lost,
They say, lost in the fog, among the ice.
But no, he too was killed on the first of July
Only it took him months to cast away,
And drift away, far away, in the mist.
Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?
I need no kings nor no Kaisers, no,
Nor no statues with fine words writ on’em,
Nor no flags nor no Last Post today:
I only want to see my men come home,
Come laughing home at twilight, boots all mucky,
An’ me fussin’ at ‘em for being’ late,
Come laughing home at twilight...
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
God bless Canada
Come Laughing Home at Twilight
Beaumont-Hamel, 1916
And, O! Wasn’t he just the Jack the Lad,
A’swellin’ down the Water Street as if –
As if he owned the very paving stones!
He was my beautiful boy, and, sure,
The girls they thought so too: his eyes, his walk;
A man of Newfoundland, my small big man,
Just seventeen, but strong and bold and sure.
Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?
Don’t tell me he was England’s finest, no –
He was my finest, him and his Da,
His Da, who breathed in sorrow, and was lost,
They say, lost in the fog, among the ice.
But no, he too was killed on the first of July
Only it took him months to cast away,
And drift away, far away, into the mist.
Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?
I need no Kings nor no Kaisers, no,
Nor no statues with fine words writ on’em,
Nor no flags nor no Last Post today:
I only want to see my men come home,
Come laughing home at twilight, boots all mucky,
An’ me fussin’ at ‘em for bein’ late,
Come laughing home at twilight.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC