Service related Poems

#41
Of course it is. I'm glad you recognised his style. He was the best poet. The SOLIDER's poet. He is truly missed.
I am ashamed to say that I do not know of him. Was he published and, if so, where can I find his verse?
 
#42
What happens when subbies go after the Colonel's daughter:


There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hurried to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
 
#43
GOING HOME.

I,m goin, 'ome to Blighty-aint I glad to have the chance!
I,m loaded up wiv fightin, and I,ve 'ad my fill 'o france;
I,m feelin' so excited-like, I want to sing and dance,
for I'm goin 'ome to Blighty in the Mawnin',

I'goin 'ome to Blighty: can you wonder as I'm gay?
I'v got a wound I wouldn't sell for 'alf a year o' pay,
A harm that's mashed to jelly, in the nicest sort o' way,
for it takes me ' to ome to blighty in the mawnin.

'ow everlastin' keen I was on getting' to the front!
I'd ginger for a dozen, and I elped to bear the brunt;
But cheese and crust! I'm crazy, now I'v done me little stunt,
to sniff the air of blighty in the mawnin'

I'v looked upon the wine that's white,
and on the wine that's red;
I'v looked on cider flowin', till it fairly turned me 'ed;
But oh, the finest scoff will be,
when all is done and said,
a pint o' bass in blighty in the mawnin'!

I'm goin' back to Blighty, which I left to strafe the 'un,
I'v fought in bloody battles, and I'v 'ad a 'eap of fun;
But now me flippers busted, and I fink me dooty's done,
And I'll kis me girl in Blighty in the Mawnin'.

Oh, there a furrin' lands to see,
and some of 'em are fine;
And there be furrin' girls to kiss,
and scented furrin' wine;
But theres no land like England,
and no other gel like mine;
thank gawd for dear old Blighty in the mornin'.


Robert w service. from his collection of verse.
" Rhymes of a red cross man"
August 1916.
 
Last edited:
#44
Written in Afhgan 2011:

Day reluctantly retreats, heat fights to hold the ground
but lilac grey tendrils scout ahead, to herald the advance of dusk
Now the dust suspends a momentary, ambient truce
The deep bruised purple sky of calm
A maiden draws the dark, black veil
To hide the wounded eyes of Night

Is's a nod to this phot:
 

Attachments

#46
Mademoiselle from Armentieres

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres,
She hasn't been kissed in forty years,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
She had the form like the back of a hack,
When she cried the tears ran down her back,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
She never could hold the love of man
'Cause she took her baths in a talcum can,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
She had four chins, her knees would knock,
And her face would stop a cuckoo clock,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
She could beg a franc, a drink, a meal,
But it wasn't because of sex appeal,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
She could guzzle a barrel of sour wine,
And eat a hog without peeling the rind,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

The MPS think they won the war, Parley-voo.
The MPS think they won the war, Parley-voo.
The MPS think they won the war,
Standing guard at the café door,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

The officers get the pie and cake, Parley-voo.
The officers get the pie and cake, Parley-voo.
The officers get the pie and cake,
And all we get is the bellyache,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

The sergeant ought to take a bath, Parley-voo.
The sergeant ought to take a bath, Parley-voo.
If he changes his underwear
The frogs will give him the Croix-de-Guerre,
Hinky-dinky, parley-voo.

You might forget the gas and shells, Parley-voo.
You might forget the gas and shells, Parley-voo.
You might forget the groans and yells
But you'll never forget the mademoiselles,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-voo?
Just blow your nose, and dry your tears,
We'll all be back in a few short years,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.


One of the cleaner versions.
 
#47
When I was eighteen years of age
Into the army I did engage
I left my home with a good intent
For to join the forty-second regiment

While I was posted on guard one day
Some soldiers' children came out to play
From the officers' quarters my captain came
And he ordered me for to take their names

I took one name instead of three
On neglect of duty they then charged me
I was confined to barracks with loss of pay
For doing my duty the opposite way

A loaded rifle I did prepare
For to shoot my captain in the barracks square
It was my captain I meant to kill
But I shot my colonel against my will

At Liverpool Assizes my trial I stood
And I held my courage as best I could
Then the old judge said, Now, McCafferty
Go prepare your soul for eternity

I had no father to take my part
No loving mother to break her heart
I had one friend and a girl was she
Who'd lay down her life for McCafferty

So come all you officers take advice from me
And go treat your men with some decency
For it's only lies and a tyranny
That have made a murderer of McCafferty
 
#48
ammy Small



Oh, my name is Sammy Small, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, my name is Sammy Small, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, my name is Sammy Small
And I only have one ball,
But it's better than none at all,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)

Oh, they say I shot a man, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, they say I shot a man, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
They say I shot him in the head
With a fucking piece of lead,
Now that silly fucker's dead,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)

Oh, they say I'm going to swing, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, they say I'm going to swing, fuck 'em all (so fuck 'em all)
Oh, they say I'm going to swing,
From a fucking piece of string,
What a silly fucking thing,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)

Oh, the parson he will come, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, the parson he will come, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, the parson he will come,
With his tales of kingdom come,
He can shove 'em up his bum,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)

Oh, the hangman wears a mask, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, the hangman wears a mask, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, the hangman wears a mask,
For his silly fucking task,
He can shove it up his ass,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)

Oh, the sheriff'll be there too, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, the sheriff'll be there too, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
Oh, the sheriff'll be there too,
With his silly fucking crew,
They've got fuck-all else to do,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)

I saw Molly in the crowd, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
I saw Molly in the crowd, fuck 'em all (fuck 'em all)
I saw Molly in the crowd, and I felt so fucking proud
That I shouted right out loud,
So fuck 'em all. (so fuck 'em all)


US Fighter Pilot Song
 
#49
The Irish Colonel

Said the king to the colonel,
'The complaints are eternal,
That you Irish give more trouble
Than any other corps.'

Said the colonel to the king,
'This complaint is no new thing,
For your foemen, sire,
have made it A hundred times before.'
 
#50
This was on the AGC FB page. I'm sure you'll all appreciate it.

"I found the following poem in a book called "Bill" written by Richard Devereux. Richards grandfather was Bill Devereux who served in Salonika (now Thessaloniki), during The Great War, for three years. Bill wrote many poems and this is one of 40 now published.

The Clerk

The Clerk saw active service
In the Pay Office.
His was important work.

Not dangerous, it was true,
not much chance of being shot,
though paper-cuts were plenty.

Mosquitos were just as pleased
to suck the blood of a clerk,
as down a soldier's own,
It was all the same to them,
and dysentery flushed you out
whatever job you did.

There were deaths
in the Pay Office,
bullets or not."
 

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