War poems
/ page 426 of 504 /
The Forlorn
© James Russell Lowell
The night is dark, the stinging sleet,
Swept by the bitter gusts of air,
Drives whistling down the lonely street,
And glazes on the pavement bare.
To-- : From The French
© George Gordon Byron
Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Sever'd from thy faithful few?
Lethargy of leaden wings
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Sure, I sip my lemon tea with spoon of amber honey,
trying to decide which things to do, things I didnt need
to think about before this day, praying for the strength
to ride these doldrums out, to see them to their squalid end.
Retribution
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
When Egypt said, "Exterminate
The males among the Jews,
Fair Goshen's land make desolate
And bid them glad adieus:"
It seldom snowed - Part II
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It seldom snowed in Camp they said, on the mountains, yes,
and in the Styx, aka zone six. Thats where we were afoot
in alpine grass, garbed to test our winter skills,
tramp the craggy hills and camp a night or two,
It seldom snowed, they said - Part I
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It seldom snowed, they said, it might get cold but it wont be snow;
well, one should guess the locals know the weather best and I was new,
so when I left the warmth of the limited express and descended onto
a dimly lit, deserted siding I was not impressed to find the ground at
It is an abhorrent thing
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It is an abhorrent thing, this incarceration of your vulnerability,
profoundly cruel in the way you were beaten
to your knees, blithely unaware it was a battle lost
for your health and wellbeing. It was dreadful to witness
Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast
© Charles Causley
Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast
Bought an old castle complete with a ghost,
But someone or other forgot to declare
To Colonel Fazak that the spectre was there.
Bannerman of the Dandenong
© Alice Werner
I rode through the Bush in the burning noon,
Over the hills to my bride, -
The track was rough and the way was long,
And Bannerman of the Dandenong,
He rode along by my side.
Climatic Sorcery
© James Whitcomb Riley
When frost's all on our winder, an' the snow's
All out-o'-doors, our "Old-Kriss"-milkman goes
A-drivin' round, ist purt'-nigh froze to death,
With his old white mustache froze full o' breath.
I love you in the morning
© Ivan Donn Carswell
I love you in the morning and at the setting of the sun
And in the hours of darkness before the day's begun
And in my waking solitude to greet the break of dawn
I grant you sleep that extra hour, although you sleep alone.
The Nativity
© William Cowper
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My selfdisdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.
Her gentle hands
© Ivan Donn Carswell
She sighed and sighed and signified
repleteness of her solo ride, she kissed
his salty tear-filled eyes and said her name.
Stoves and sunshine
© Eugene Field
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea-
The land of stoves and sunshine is good enough for me!
I've done the grand for fourteen months in every foreign clime,
And I've learned a heap of learning, but I've shivered all the time;
And the biggest bit of wisdom I've acquired-as I can see-
Is that which teaches that this land's the land of lands for me.
Touched my family
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Even from afar came shouts of recognition
joyful voices rang across the years disdained and
faces of our childhood unforgot fit instantly familiar names;
voices still the same despite the extra grey, the extra lines,
For Harry (My College Room-mate who Died)
© Ivan Donn Carswell
He cut his hand and it bled, the flesh
inside was red and the hurt discounted the flood
of red and vibrant blood that pulsed
from the wound. But he was a warrior,
Every Time I laugh Aloud (An Ode to Short People)
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Every time I laugh aloud, who springs to mind but Johnnie Howard?
Cathartic laughter eases stress which Johnnie causes in excess,
so when I hum acerbic lines of Randy Newmans quirky song
dont want no short people round here,
Ekka
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The Ekka institution bares us all, though call it Exhibition, Royal
Queensland Show, its that time of year when you will go in
liberal spirit where the spectacle of fantasies escrow.
Burns
© Charles Harpur
MY OWN WILD BURNS! these rude-wrought rhymes of thine
In golden worth are like the unshapely coin
Of some new realm, yet pure as from the mine
And Art may well be spared with such alloy
As dims the bullion to improve the die!
