All Is Secure ...

[barryc]

Maria,

Certainly seems that Sassoon's observations are still pertinent today. At least a few years ago the politicians sending soldiers to war had some understanding of what war was like. But the likes of Blair and co have led sheltered lives and have no idea of what it is to risk, or even lose, your life on some ill conceived venture, the main purpose of which is to fuel some bl**dy politician's ambition.


Barry

[Kat =^..^=]

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain,
No-one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march you by
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The Hell where youth and laughter go ...


Siegfried Sassoon

[Artist]

Said the General of the Army,

I think that was is barmy,

So he laid down his gun,

And is having much much much more fun!

Another Milligan poem, but, It appeals to me. Old Spike went through the ringer of WW2 and came out A manic deppresive. His entire life after the war was dominated by what he experienced as a soldier. Have read his entire collection and found it, yes, funny but also very sad. The incident where he was injured has to read by any Gung Ho person to see the other side of war. Treated like a Leper, demoted and basically binned by an uncaring total Ars*wipe of a Major.

Artist

[kwew]

Im not really into poetry so i may be talking utter rubish. I have heard of this Sassoon chap and as someone said earlier i agree that his work is dark, grim and a little morbid, which is not to my taste but on the other hand i think his work is probably a more realistic view. Like Artist i prefer witty poetry by the likes of milligan, so maybe im just not mature enough to fully understand war poetry, im sure one day i will.
Off poetry for a moment, When my grandad died he had some early editions of Gulliver's Travel's (Jonathon Swift) and Treasure Island (Robert Louis Stevenson) and me being a stupid little child of about 8 wrote on the inside covers and now they are ruined forever, I've, obviously now reached the age where they mean something to me and its such a shame. the moral never give children anything .
One last thing, chaucer is a legend and the BBC should not have been allowed to moderise "canterbury tales" its sacrilege. He wrote those in the 1300's i believe so there is no resemblance to modern society and if there is a resemblance who cares originals are always the best.

[Kat =^..^=]

By all the glories of the day
And the cool evening's benison,
By that last sunset touch that lay
Upon the hills where day was done,
By beauty lavisghly outpoured
And blessings carelessly received,
By all the days that I have lived
Make me a solider, Lord.
By all of man's hopes and fears,
And all the wonders poets sing,
The laughter of unclouded years,
And every sad and lovely thing;
By the romantic ages stored
With high endeavor that was his,
By all his mad catastrophes
Make me a man, O Lord.
I, that on my familiar hill
Saw with uncomprehending eyes
A hundred of Thy sunsets spill
Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword
Must say goodbye to all of this;--
By all delights that I shall miss,
Help me to die, O Lord.

W.N.Hodgson (1893-1916)
"Before Action"

[harry hackedoff]

Agree about "who`s harder, Owen or Sasson" Vidal had the luxury of being an Officer and a Gentleman, however, which got him sent to Craiglockhart, with days out in Aydinbrae, and not tied to a post.
I`ve allways felt an affinity with Rudyard, though. Not just for his pomes but for his knack of telling the story from the ordinary bloke`s point of view. Geezers he met on trains or in bars as a reporter in Inja, furnished him with his material. " Plain Tales From The Hills" would be a good place to start, if you aren`t familiar. Ten out of ten to the young lady wot mentioned Widow`s Sons, by the way There`s a few of us on here
Ref the Green-eyed idol. Jim, give us the naughty version mate
Here`s one I made, earlier, on a post about the Yomp

There`s a green-eyed little Scouser, to the south of Wanneroo,
He`s envious and jealous, cause he can`t be with you.
He`ll be with you though, in spirit, as you bimble through the mist,
But sadly, not that evening, as you all go on the piss"

Too easy, this stuff writes itself

Aye, Harry
PS The blokes name is John Hegley. Try reading Wilf or Vidal, in the style of John Hegley

[harry hackedoff]

Further to my last,
Milligan`s nonsense stuff is good, Ning nang nong, cows go bong etc. Particular fave is,
I must go down to the sea again,
to the lonely sea, and the sky.
I left my shirt and socks there,
I wonder if they`re dry

Do like a nice drop of poetry now and again, but I`m a big fan of prose, meself. Here`s an example from way back when this site hadn`t been invaded by the " I fink, wot jew fink, cul8r m8" types.

Er, quote,

Picture the scene, dimly lit night club, smokey atmosphere. On the stage stands a Steineway Grand Piano. Resplendant with 5 branch candelabra. The Rinestones on the deep blue velvet curtains sparkle like moonlight on a foreign sea.
The club is packed to capacity with the wealthy clientele of London`s clubland who have flocked here in their hundreds to see those two mega-stars of stage and screen. Non other than Hackedoff and Mutley.
In the darkened room the buzz of conversation slowly dies away as a figure in a double breasted black Evening Suite walks across the stage in the semi darkness. He acknowleges the waves from several theatrical Impressarios as, nonchalontly, he seats himself at the grand piano.
With baited breath, the audience wait. All sound in the dark auditorium ceases, as the dim house lights finaly fade to total darkness.
Then, a single spotlight pierces the inky blackness to reveal the torso of Sir Harry, himself. The epitome of upper-class elegance, resplendant in white Dinner Jacket with his now famous black silk handkerchief. From his inner pocket, he produces a cigarette and proceeds to fit it to a Noel Cowerd-like ivory holder. The crowd are ecstatic as Sir Harry lights up, turns to Mutley at the piano and, with a little puff exclaims,
"Hello, Mutley, old chum, how are you this evening?"
"Very well, Harry, And yourself?"
"Spiffing, dear boy. What a marvelous audience we have here tonight. And what an absolutely divine stage setting for us. Do you know, those curtains remind me of our first trip to the South China Sea. When was that Mutley?"
"I believe that was 1932, Sir Harry."
"Do you remember, Mutley, that last night in the Phillipines? You spent all night making love on the beach to a young Phillipino, as I recall you almost missed the ship"
"Yes, but I was so terribly terribly young. I was so impetuous, you know. But above all, I was in love"
"Ah yes, but what was his name. D`you remember?"
"Er, no. There have been so many,. Shall we start?"
Mutley begins an introduction on the piano that the audience recognise at once.
Sir Harry, with an arrogant ease, wanders over to the microphone. His dark hair gleaming under the spotlight, he takes a final drag at the ivory cigarette holder before casually placing it on the side of the piano. Softly, he begins,

"A trace of lippstick on an old French Letter,
A dose of clap that just won`t get no better
Oh, how that part of me stings,
These foolish things remind me of you.

You left a big job in my Late-Night Final,
Your girlish laughter in the Gents Urinal,
I caught the crabs with wings,
These foolish things remind me of you.

You said you won`t do that "`cause it might choke yer"
I said you smelled just like a three-badge stoker,
My latest genital wart
And things that I`ve caught, remind me of you.

That night you sneacked me into your new quarters,
Chief Wren said she`d put us both on "Orders"
I had to give her one, and now she`s a son,
Reminds me of you"

Ah, those far off days when we had an Empire and the Raj.
Choice is,
1Singers
2Honkers
3K.L.
Given that times have changed, where is the best place for a couple of days stopover on the journey to Oz?

With no appologies to Cole Porter,

and unquote. ( for the full topic, goto www.militaryforums.co.uk/forums/viewtopic.php?t=739 )

You don`t get stuff like that from yer Vidal bleedin Sasoons

Aye, Lord Hackedoff of Wanneroo,

PS, Mutley is currently "resting" as we Theatrical types say

[harry hackedoff]

No mate, last time we spoke was just after Christmas, last year. Said he was moving house, new job etc, and hoped to be back on in Feb. Never happened. I`ll give his number a ring, now( web is shite, tonight down here, keep having the "page expired" routine.) Spoke to the Prez last night, how we larfed. Told him the story of the Gin lying unconscious through booze, on the meridian(central reservation) in some small bush town high street. Big abbo spies her from the pub and proceeds to have his way with her in the middle of the road. Quite by chance, the local Constable turns up in his Ute, just as Matey is on the vinegar strokes. Bush towns don`t see the law for months on end, so it was really lucky/unlucky, depending on your perspective Without further ado, the Constable drags the Abbo off, and chucks him in the back of the ute and drives off, leaving the Ginny non the wiser, lying in the street You don`t see much of this on Neighbours
Rob told me that most Australians think "Uterus" is Latin for " Pick-up-truck"
Take it easy Lobster mwa mwa. this would`ve been pm`ed but as said, the web has shit itself tonight

[bootneck]

I wrote this whilst at work, (before the barstools made me redundant) i`ve deleted the young ladys name, to save her blushes, or is that mine. anyway, i`ll not be giving up the day job,



you sit and watch Gladiators fight
long into the summer night
stab and lunge is what they do
all of this to entertain you

blood is spilt and people die
do we all, live a lie
the life we live is shallow now
how can we change it, tell me how

i enter the arena, and tremble not
this for the woman, that love forgot
to show her how much i care
fight the Gladiator if you dare

i stand there now, sword in hand
to a rousing reception, oh so grand
my opponent is dead, slain by me
all the rejoycing, and so much glee

sit, stand watch and stare
the lions come out of their darken lair
i`m on the menu for you to eat
that would be lovely, what a treat

Gladiator, Gladiator, fight them now
draw your sword and show us how
four lions big and strong
to kill them all, will take too long

Gladiator win the fight
fight the lions with all your might
all they are, are flesh and blood
slay the lions, a job done good

the lions they fall one by one
until the threat is almost gone
the crowd again they stand and cheer
back to the dungeons, but no cold beer

the hated emporer is not impressed
for me he doth detest
your days are numbered one and all
it won`t be long till you take the fall

the emporer plots and schemes at night
all the planning for your one last fight
an army of legions standing tall
all their backs against the wall

i enter the arena, eyes wide shut
is this the time for the final cut
i draw my sword one last time
prepared to die, for my small crime

the crime i say, was loving you
pushing hard, all i said was true
the legions now are closing in
they seem to smile, one large grin

Gladiator, Gladiator, you`ve done no wrong
your love for ******, was so strong
you held her in high esteem
pick of the crop, she was the cream

but now our orders to carry out
please die quietly, and without a shout
off to alyseum now my friend
for this is the bitter end

the blows they came, raining from above
and then i saw, the snow white dove
i saw my body lying still
as i stood on a sun soaked hill

the pain and suffering i have endured
with the love of ******, could have been cured
and as we know, its not meant to be
so its back to the hill, and sit in my tree

memories of you will always be
sitting with me in my sun soaked tree
your always with me **** my love
for you were, the snow white dove

[Kat =^..^=]

Bootneck, that's a very lovely poem I'm sure the woman to whom you've wrote it will think so too ...

:lilangel:

[bootneck]

cheers Sticky, things planned for sunday, have my Poppy in situ, enough said. however, here is another one, inspired by the same person,

I stand upon a mountain, looking out to sea,
and all that I am missing, is you standing next to me
the boats they are sailing, sailing down below
my ****** is standing next to me, with a warming glow

she holds me oh so tightly,so i do not slip
then kisses me tenderly up on my lip
i brush her hair from her face
and grab her in a pationate embrace
we laugh and giggle, stand and stare
wishing that we could always be there

good job i didn`t give the day job up

[Artist]

The Night was young as were we,
Both in love for reasons unknown,
You with her and me with Gladys,
The lovely NAAFI wench I pulled in the Spanish.

We wandered here, we wandered there,
I fact we wandered everywhere,
Up to the longroom for a crafty fag,
We once caught a flasher without his mac!

Our lives were simple,
Our job was to, Guarding Stonehouse from the rabble,
Christmas rear party was not to bad,
Come New Years eve it just got better,
Do you remember when we caught the brown Hatter?

We'd had a few as you do,
Our pickhalfs swinging in the air,
When Lo! we heard this funny noise,
And caught two queers just round the corner,
Doing things you just not orter!

They were of a civvy pursuasion,
Defiling Pussers little haven,
We crept up on them not a sound did we make,
Closer, yet closer, and closer still,
We then cried out OK yer knicked!

I am almost sure one sh*t a brick!
Over the wall and into the night,
Our pair of perverts did a runner,
In there haste to get away,
One it seemed had dropped his wallet,

Quids fifty each we both did get,
We never told the duty Pig,
Next morning sh*t, shower and bed,
The evening called and out we went,
Me with Gladys and you with Madge,

Quids fifty each we both splashed out,
The girls were happy to spend our dosh,
And both did get extremely sloshed,
The next morning came foul and drizzely,
Another day on Christmas rear party.

Class or Wot?!


Artist

[Kat =^..^=]

I enjoyed reading that one Artist, thank you :lol!:

:lilangel:

[Artist]

Tried to engage my 22 year old daughter in a conversation in the pros and cons of Sassoons dark writings this evening.

Her reply was "Don't he make shampoo?" I bloody well give up! Her with an A level in English as well!

I spend most Saturdays reading the Canterbury Tales in there original form, Just love the Old English and translating it. OK I'm different so what.

In the mob people were always Wondering what planet I came from as I could be engrossed in a book on the Battle of Allesia or some such. every one else was was into Sh*tkickers or the latest Action thriller from the land of Clive Cussler of some one like him.

Artist