I mind as how the night before that show
Us five got talkin’; we was in the know.
‘Ah well,’ says Jimmy,–and he’s seen some scrappin’,
‘There ain’t no more nor five things can happen,-
You get knocked out; else wounded, bad or cushy;
Scuppered; or nowt except you’re feelin’ mushy.’

One of us got the knock-out, blown to chops;
One lad was hurt, like, losin’ both his props.
And one – to use the word of hypocrites -
Had the misfortune to be took be Fritz.
Now me, I wasn’t scratched, praise God Amighty,
Though next time please I’ll thank Him for a blighty.
But poor old Jim, he’s livin’ and he’s not;
He reckoned he’d five chances, and he had:
He’s wounded, killed, and pris’ner, all the lot,
The flamin’ lot all rolled in one. Jim’s mad.

This poem was written/submitted by Micki.

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

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

I can’t believe this has happened, I can’t believe this is true,
So many families’s torn apart, so many life’s destroyed,
So much violence, too much pain,
So much hatred, but who do we blame,
But what do we do, what do we say,
We can’t change anything, it all stay’s the same,
So many tears have fallen from our eyes, just to see these people having no life,
Watching them go on with their life, as if the war was just a lie,
Kid’s carrying guns on their side; I can’t believe this is world wide,
People being killed for no reason at all, people being murdered and left on the floor,
So much blood spilled on the streets, so many bodies’s just lying in the creeks,
This is what’s happening and this is so true; cause’ this is what the world is coming to.

This poem was written/submitted by kirsty.

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

“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