Posted on 11/10/2011 2:45:14 PM PST by US Navy Vet
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
Terry Kelly - A Pittance of Time
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kX_3y3u5Uo&feature=related
The 2 Minute Silence
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41FUwyfpcQ8&feature=related
I learnt that poem in school
Note that in May of 1915, when that poem was written, The Great War was barely getting warmed up; tens of millions were yet to be killed or wounded.
There are many collections of World War I poems on the Internet. But they are harsh and sad.
The last living verified veteran of World War I (28 July 1914 – 11 November 1918) is Florence Green, a British woman who served in the Allied armed forces, in the Women’s Royal Air Force. She is 110 years old.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence_Green
I know that it’s an Armistice Day poem, but in second grade, I had to memorize and recite it, along with a young miss from my class, for a Memorial Day presentation at school.
All our parents were there.
It was a solemn day, and taps were blown at the end of the presentation.
I find this version of the poem very moving - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BsOsdGtBBTg
Great Britian did suffer terribly.
My response to the poem: AMEN!
Formatting helps get the rhythm and cadence...
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Thanks for posting that link. Moving, indeed.
Motorhead - 1916
16 years old when I went to war,
To fight for a land fit for heroes,
God on my side, and a gun in my hand,
Counting my days down to zero,
And I marched and I fought and I bled and I died,
And I never did get any older,
But I knew at the time that a year in the line,
Is a long enough life for a soldier,
We all volunteered, and we wrote down our names,
And we added two years to our ages,
Eager for life and ahead of the game,
Ready for history’s pages,
And we fought and we brawled and we whored ‘til we stood,
Ten thousand shoulder to shoulder,
A thirst for the Hun, we were food for the gun,
And that’s what you are when you’re soldiers,
I heard my friend cry, and he sank to his knees,
Coughing blood as he screamed for his mother,
And I fell by his side, and that’s how we died,
Clinging like kids to each other,
And I lay in the mud and the guts and the blood,
And I wept as his body grew colder,
And I called for my mother and she never came,
Though it wasn’t my fault and I wasn’t to blame,
The day not half over and ten thousand slain,
And now there’s nobody remembers our names,
And that’s how it is for a soldier.
They shall grow not old; as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them
Laurence Binyan.
We used to observe Armistice Day in grade school. The Eleventh Month, the Eleventh Day, the Eleventh Hour, the Eleventh Minute. Too much foolishness now for that. Too much political correctness. Too much Obama. God help us.
Have y’all seen the final Black Adder episode?
the mood of this great comedy series becomes quite somber. Characters of which we have become very fond, including Rowan Atkinson and a young Hugh Laurie, go over the top and, as they charge, their figures fade away and are replaced by the poppies of Flanders. Tough episode.
We didn’t even get a decent poem out of the second War.
Bump for later...
Thank you US Navy Vet...for this beautiful remembrance of those who fought and died for our freedom.
And may God Bless you for your service to our great country.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime. -
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Poet Wilfred Owen wrote this poem while recovering from shell shock at a hospital in England. He returned to duty in July 1918 and was killed leading an attack one week before the end of the war.
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