Poetry of WW1

Discussion in 'Barracks' started by liverpool annie, Jan 15, 2009.

  1. liverpool annie

    liverpool annie New Member

    Sassoon and Owen have been researched thoroughly regarding their poetry ... but what about some others !

    HOOGE - JULY 31st 1915

    Hooge! More damned than Sodom and more bloody,
    `Twas there we faced the flames of liquid fire.
    Hooge! That shambles where the flames swept ruddy:
    A spume of heat and hate and omens dire;
    A vision of a concrete hell from whence
    Emerged satanic forms, or so it seemed
    To us who, helpless, saw them hasten hence.
    Scarce understood we if we waked or dreamed.

    "Stand To! Stand To! The Wurtembergers come!"
    Shouting vile English oaths with gutter zest.
    ' And boastful threats to kill they voice, while some,
    In uniforms of grey and scarlet dressed,
    Wear flame-projectors strapped upon their backs.
    How face a wall of flame? Impossible!
    "Back, boys! Give way a little; take the tracks
    That lead to yonder wood, and there we'll fill
    Such trenches as are dug, and face the foe,
    And no Hell-fire shall move us once we're there.
    We're out to win or die, boys; if we go
    Back and yet back, leaving good strongholds bare,
    We'll save our lives, perhaps, but not our name.
    There's no one in this well-trained company
    Who'd save his skin and perjure his good fame."

    We hold the wood, but, oh, how can it be?
    The shells are raining down amidst the trees,
    Snapping the full-girthed trunks that downward crash
    In dire proximity to us. The breeze
    Bespeaks hot human blood. The scarlet splash
    Shows everywhere, and everywhere the maimed
    Are crawling, white-lipped, to a dug-out where
    The doctor in a drip of sweat seems framed,
    So hard he works to hide the horrid stare
    Of wounds adrip; while many pass away,
    And need no lint to bind their frailty,
    For God has ta'en them; 'tis their triumph day,
    And all their sins shall expiated be.

    Thus are we thrown in Life's great melting-pot,
    Humanity much matrixed; but the ore ,
    Looms purer when the crucible is hot:
    'Tis on this truth that we should set our store.

    Rifleman COLIN MITCHELL

    In Memory of
    Rifleman COLIN MITCHELL

    B/567, 3rd Bn., Rifle Brigade
    who died
    on 22 March 1918

    Remembered with honour
    POZIERES MEMORIAL
     

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