I stand here in a foreign land
Beneath my boots, cold stony sand.
A dessert country rough as stones,
with frosty nights that chill my bones,
And scorching days that blind my sight,
A burning hell until the night.
I came to keep the peace, I hear,
But all I do is live in fear.
Unseen eyes, they stare at me
Please send me home, please set me free
Every day
when we rise
we can make
the decision
to plant
the seeds of peace…
through our thoughts
speech and actions
we have the power
to maintain
our own well-being
and while the spirit crushers
and war mongers
attempt to infect us
with their malignancy
our serenity
will shield us
from their strife…
for the power of peace
is right inside
our heads and hearts
gently guiding us
towards harmony
and freedom.
This poem was submitted by Christine Bruness.
Alone amid the battle-din untouched
Stands out one figure beautiful, serene;
No grime of smoke nor reeking blood hath smutched
The virgin brow of this unconquered queen.
She is the Joy of Courage vanquishing
The unstilled tremors of the fearful heart;
And it is she that bids the poet sing,
And gives to each the strength to bear his part.
Her eyes shall not be dimmed, but as a flame
Shall light the distant ages with its fire,
That men may know the glory of her name,
That purified our souls of fear’s desire.
And she doth calm our sorrow, soothe our pain,
And she shall lead us back to peace again.
By: Dyneley Hussey
Around no fire the soldiers sleep to-night,
But lie a-wearied on the ice-bound field,
With cloaks wrapt round their sleeping forms, to shield
Them from the northern winds. Ere comes the light
Of morn brave men must arm, stern foes to fight.
The sentry stands, his limbs with cold congealed;
His head a-nod with sleep; he cannot yield,
Though sleep and snow in deadly force unite.
Amongst the sleepers lies the Boy awake,
And wide-eyed plans brave glories that transcend
The deeds of heroes dead; then dreams o’ertake
His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend
To one grand theme, and through all barriers break
To guard from hurt his faithiful sleeping friend.
By: Sydney Oswald
Oh! yon hills are filled with sunlight, and the green leaves paled to gold,
And the smoking mists of Autumn hanging faintly o’er the wold;
I dream of hills of other days whose sides I loved to roam
When Spring was dancing through the lanes of those distant hills of home.
The winds of heaven gathered there as pure and cold as dew;
Wood-sorrel and wild violets along the hedgerows grew,
The blossom on the pear-trees was as white as flakes of foam
In the orchard ‘neath the shadow of those distant hills of home.
The first white frost in the meadow will be shining there today
And the furrowed upland glinting warm beside the woodland way;
There, a bright face and a clear hearth will be waiting when I come,
And my heart is throbbing wildly for those distant hills of home.
By: Malcolm Hemphrey
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind,
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them.
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom,
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbles in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind!
By: Stephen Crane
“When there is Peace our land no more
Will be the land we knew of yore.”
Thus do our facile seers foretell
The truth that none can buy or see
And e’en the wisest must ignore.
When we have bled at every pore,
Shall we still strive for gear and store?
Will it be Heaven? Will it be Hell,
When there is Peace?
This let us pray for, this implore:
That all base dreams thrust out at door,
We may in loftier aims excel
And, like men waking from a spell,
Grow stronger, nobler, than before,
When there is Peace.
By: Austin Dobson
When I’m killed, don’t think of me
Buried there in Cambrin Wood,
Nor as in Zion think of me
With the Intolerable Good.
And there’s one thing that I know well,
I’m damned if I’ll be damned to Hell!
So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me,
Walking the dim corridor;
In Heaven or Hell, don’t wait for me,
Or you must wait for evermore.
You’ll find me buried, living-dead
In these verses that you’ve read.
So when I’m killed, don’t mourn for me,
Shot, poor lad, so bold and young,
Killed and gone - don’t mourn for me.
On your lips my life is hung:
O friends and lovers, you can save
Your playfellow from the grave.
By: Robert Graves
You love us when we’re heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
That chivalry redeems the war’s disgrace.
You make us shells. You listen with delight,
By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.
You crown our distant ardours while we fight,
And mourn our laurelled memories when we’re killed.
You can’t believe that British troops ‘retire’
When hell’s last horror breaks them, and they run,
Trampling the terrible corpses-blind with blood.
O German mother dreaming by the fire,
While you are knitting socks to send your son
His face is trodden deeper in the mud.
By: Siegfried Sassoon
There’s a soul in the Eternal,
Standing stiff before the King.
There’s a little English maiden
Sorrowing.
There’s a proud and tearless woman,
Seeing pictures in the fire.
There’s a broken battered body
On the wire.
By: Woodbine Willy