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I'm not knowledgeable about poets or poetry. In general I can't be bothered with it, but there are some that 'hit the spot'.

The Soldier by Rupert Brooke - The only real poem I know by heart.

Wilfred Owen was schooled at the same school as me, Birkenhead Institute. His poems were read on Remebrance Day.

Rudyard Kipling - Soldier and Sailor Too.

And one of my personal favourites:

Burt Burton

Some time when you're feeling important
Some time when your egos in bloom
Some time when you take it for granted
Your the most qualified man in the room

Some time when you think that your leaving
Will leave an unfillable hole
Just follow these simple instructions
And see how it humbles your soul

Take a bucket and fill It with water
Put your hand in it up to your wrist
Take it out and the hole that remains there
Is the measure of how much your missed

You can splash it around while it's in there
You can stir up the water galore
Yet remove it and then in a moment
The water's the same as before

The moral to this is quit simple
Do the best that you possibly can
Be proud of yourself yet remember
There is no indispensable man

I served with Drunken Duncan Cameron (he was CSM A Coy 1984)
He reminded me of a sobering fact that is very well illustrated in this short piece:

When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

He’s the fellow to please – never mind all the rest
For he’s with you, clear to the end
And you’ve passed your most difficult, dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

Couple of good choices there your Rogueness.
Is Wilf Owen your claim to fame then mate Oooh

In the same vein, I would include "If" by Brother Rudyard.

I agree Harry, and I would also include "Tommy" plus "Fuzzy Wuzzy"

Special Train For Atkins hey Murph
Here`s If, which was written for his son Jack who was eventually killed in Flanders.

If

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

HH,
No! I'm my fame to claim!

I remember -

Cinderella - All day long I sists and sits
This xxxxx place gives me the xxxxxs

Enter Buttons stage the left
Don't sit there a cryin and gruntin or I'll come across
and kick yer xxxxx in

Ah ! The joys of poesi and pantomime

What on earth was that about?

Just a remembered rendition of Cinderella by by the Mess at
Manama, Bahrain 1962 ..... Bulwark

Nowt to worry about - but you had to see it to understand -

First saw that rendition in a Christmas Panto in Malta, about 1948. The Brigade Band were the culprits,Cinders being a hefty scouse bugler, who's tackle flowed out of his pants, much to the joy of Officers wives in the front row. All day I sits, down here and Knits, this farkin' place gives me the shits.Absolutely unforgettable prose.


Owdun.

One day I was very tired on my scooter and I started crying to this poem, what was worse was it was a poem on an advert for a picture gallery in Martock. It was only a little cry but a cry none the less.