Poem suitable for remembrance day

#1
Not sure if posted in correct area, but hoping someone can help.

Each year as part of the Remembrance Sunday service in our local church, one of my senior cadets has delivered a reading, not from the bible, but a poem of particular relevance/significance. In past years we have had "The flowers of the Forest" (No man's land) and "Will you buy a poppy". This year, im struggling to find something suitable - can anyone help??

Many Thanks.
 
#2
Have a look at some of Robert Service's poem's from his book, Rhymes of The Red Cross Man.

http://www.explorenorth.com/library/service/bl-redcross1.htm

My favourites include, Carry On!, The Mourners, The Call and Song of a Soldier Born.

Got to love verses that go like this:

For I hold as a simple faith there's no denying:
The trade of a soldier's the only trade worth plying;
The death of a soldier's the only death worth dying.

So let me go and leave your safety behind me;
Go to the spaces of hazard where nothing shall bind me;
Go till the word is War -- and then you will find me.
 
#4
what about is Rupert brooke poem:

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
 
#5
or this one

do not know your name, but I know you died
I do not know from where you came, but I know you died


Your uniform, branch of service, it matters not to me
Whether Volunteer or Conscript, or how it came to be
That politicians failures, or some power-mad ambition
Brought you too soon to your death, in the name of any nation


You saw, you felt, you knew full well, as friend and foe were taken
By bloody death, that your life too, was forfeit and forsaken
Yet on you went and fought and died, in your close and private hell
For Mate or Pal or Regiment and memories never to tell


It was for each other, through shot and shell, the madness you endured
Side by side, through wound and pain, and comradeship assured
No family ties, or bloodline link, could match that bond of friend
Who shared the horror and kept on going, at last until the end


We cannot know, we were not there, it's beyond our comprehension
To know the toll that battle brings, of resolute intention
To carry on, day by day, for all you loved and hoped for
To live in peace a happy life, away from bloody war


For far too many, no long life ahead, free of struggle and pain and the gun
And we must remember the price that was paid, by each and every one
Regardless of views, opinions aside, no matter how each of us sees it
They were there and I cannot forget, even though I did not live it


I do not know your name, but I know you died
I do not know from where you came, but I know you died.

Kenny Martin
 

Bowmore_Assassin

LE
Moderator
Book Reviewer
#7
You might wish to check this thread on ARRSE where some members have put in some really good (and suitable) war poetry:

http://www.arrse.co.uk/cpgn2/Forums/viewtopic/t=100761/postdays=0/postorder=asc/start=0.html

Please ignore the odd comment here and there which do not really fit with the general tone of the thread.

Also, you You might want to check out this anthology:

The Terrible Rain - The War Poets 1939-1945

and this one:

The Penguin Book of First World War Poetry.

S-P.
 

B_AND_T

LE
Book Reviewer
#8
There was a poem that I heard which started with the words "Why do you march old man". Has anyone got the full poem?
 

Bowmore_Assassin

LE
Moderator
Book Reviewer
#9
B_AND_T said:
There was a poem that I heard which started with the words "Why do you march old man". Has anyone got the full poem?
Edited to say: It appears this is the shortened version:

Why do you march old man,
With medals on your chest,
Why do you grieve old man,
For those men you laid to rest,
Why do your eyes gleam old man,
When you hear the pupils blow,
Why do you cry old man,
For those days so long ago,
In misty fields of gossamer song,
In visions of distant times,
When young boys of tender age,
Marched for the distant lines,
We buried them in a blanket shroud,
Their feet all squashed in bracken,
In a gouged out grave,
In green grass of bracken,
I’ll tell you why,
Because if it hadn’t been for those apple blossomed youth,
You would never have no freedom at all.

Not sure who it is by. I have tried to track down who is the author of the poem but I cannot find him/her. Depending on where you go on the www, it is attributed as follows:

A verse entitled "Remembering" from a Prisoner Of War Camps Memorial Society or

Written by an ex-infantryman, who saw the Italian Campaign through or you can see it here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/stories/68/a8976568.shtml

This is the BBCs WW2 People’s War archive. It is not made clear on the BBC site if the contributor is the author of the poem or he just quotes it.
 

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer
#10
Why do you still march old man?
With your medals on your chest
Why do you still grieve old man?
For those friends you laid to rest
Why do your eyes gleam old man
When you hear those bugles blow
Tell me why you cry old man
For those days so long ago.
I'll tell you why I march, young man
With these medals on my chest
I'll tell you why I grieve young man
For those friends I laid to rest
Through misty folds of gossamer silk
Come visions of distant times
When boys of very tender age
Marched forth to distant climes
So young they were... with blossom cheeks
Their eyes shone bright and clear
Scant knowledge of this sinful! World
Thought nought of hate or fear
Their laughter rang through strange bare rooms
Hardships.. They were soon to know
All they knew, was beyond their shores
Was a deadly vicious foe
They left behind their boring life
They had nothing much to give
So they laid their lives on the line
So you... young man... would live
With bayonet... Gun... And blossom cheeks
The innocence of their youth
They stood alone with fearsome pride
And perceived the awful truth
The truth they learnt… they had to die
(It’s not easy when you’re young)
The gods of war had chosen them
And stilled their youthful tongues
The guns they crashed… and the stukas dived
The shells tore their flesh asunder
I smelt their blood… watched them die
The war lords claimed their plunder
And as these warrior gods passed by
They smiled at their obscene death
Gone were their apple blossom cheeks
Scorched by napalm burning breath
We buried them in a blanket shroud
Their young flesh scorched and blacken
A communal grave newly gouged
In the bloodstained gorse and bracken
And you ask me why I march… young man
I march to remind you all
But for those apple blossomed youths
FREEDOM… would have been lost to ALL
ANON
 
#12
You may like to read the one we used last year................
BUY A POPPY?

WILL YOU BUY A POPPY, SIR?
WILL YOU WEAR IT WELL?
FOR YOU WILL HEAR A BAND, SIR,
AND NOT A SCREAMING SHELL.
ITS GOOD TO HEAR YOU RE WELL, SIR,
AND FEELING IN THE PINK,
TWO MINUTES ISN’T VERY LONG,
TO CLOSE YOUR EYES AND THINK.
WHEN I WAS SMALL I’D SAY “OH MY
I THINK THAT MAN IS GOING TO CRY”

WILL YOU BUY A POPPY, SIR,
WILL YOU WEAR IT PROUD?
FOR YOU WILL HEAR THE CHILDREN SING,
NOT ORDERS BARKED OUT LOUD.
“FIX THOSE BAYONETS, OFF YOU GO,
AND IF YOU DON’T COME BACK,
THERE S PLENTY MORE TO FOLLOW YOU,
BOB, AND BILL, AND JACK”
FULL GROWN MEN BEGIN TO CRY,
I OFTEN USED TO WONDER..WHY?

WILL YOU BUY A POPPY, SIR?
TONIGHT THERE’LL BE A DANCE,
BY KIND PERMISSION OF THE MEN
WHO FOUGHT, AND DIED, IN FRANCE,
KEEP ON GOING THO ITS BEEN
A FORTNIGHT SINCE YOU SLEPT,
FORGET THE ONES YOU LEFT BEHIND,
FORGET YOUR MOTHER WEPT.
FORGET? WE SHANT. NOW I KNOW WHY
ITS NATURAL TO START TO CRY.





WILL YOU BUY A POPPY SIR?
WILL YOU GIVE TWENTY PENCE?
WARS ARE GORY SCENES OF HELL,
IT MAKES SUCH LITTLE SENSE
TO HEAR OF LADS OF TENDER YEARS,
LYING STIFF, AND COLD,
WHAT COMFORT CAN IT GIVE TO SAY
THEY SHALL NOT GROW OLD?
FOR THEM WE GRIEVE AND MOURN AND CRY
AS ON DEATH’S LONELY FIELD THEY LIE.

WILL YOU BUY A POPPY, SIR?
THE BAND MADE SUCH A ROW,
BUT NOW THEY’RE GOING HOME SIR,
THINGS ARE QUIET NOW,
THE POLITICIANS, THEY KNEW BEST,
AND THEY HAD THEIR WAY,
PLEASE SIR, BUY THIS POPPY SIR,
JUST ONE LEFT ON MY TRAY.
THEN I LL GO HOME SOON, BY AND BY,
PERHAPS TO THINK, PERHAPS TO CRY
 
#13
A friend of mine,Michell Edwards wrote this poem

"The Poppies

From Flanders fields came cries of pain,
So much mud and a few yards of gain,
Young blood spilt in so much vain,
And then the poppies came.

Again in France there came the hell,
More lives lost to the sound of deaths bell,
More battles fought, there's a tyrant to quell,
And then the poppies fell.

In every year more have died,
For freedom many tears have cried,
No more casting lives aside,
Lets wear our poppies; in PRIDE."

Spike
 
#14
There must be a large number of parts-per-billion of pepper in the air this morning, I've got runny eyes.

Also: the old traditional "Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn" always makes me cry.
 

B_AND_T

LE
Book Reviewer
#15
Cheers for that!
 

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer
#16
All over the nation, adults are weeping thanks to you, Mr. B&T.
 
#18
Hello mwl946,

"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."

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae


tangosix.
 
#19
WHO ARE THESE MEN?

Who are these men who march so proud,

Who quietly weep, eyes closed, head bowed?

These are the men, who once were boys,

Who missed out on youth and all its joys?


Who are these men with aged faces?

Who silently count the empty spaces?

These are the men, who gave their all,

Who fought for their country for freedom for all?


Who are these men with sorrowful look?

Who can still remember the lives that were took?

These are the men, who saw young men die,

The price of peace is always high.


Who are these men who in the midst of pain,

Whispered comfort to those they would not see again?

These are the men, whose hands held tomorrow,

Who brought back our future with blood tears and sorrow?


Who are these men who promise to keep?

Alive in their hearts the ones God holds asleep?

These are the men to whom I promise again:

'Veterans’, my friends, I will remember them!



Written by an 'unknown' 12 year old girl 1966.
 
#20
Lots of air contamination in this neck of Europe! I seem to be developing a severe dose of Hay Fever. I have never heard some of those before.
 

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