Crucifixion

 
And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.

In the green fields a turnin', a baby is born
His cries crease the wind and mingle with the morn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sound is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence of distance they are sworn


So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Images of innocence charge him go on
But the decadence of destiny is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
And a blinding revelation is laid upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn.

So he stands on the sea and shouts to the shore,
But the louder that he screams the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Till the giant is aware, someone's pulling at his leg,
And someone is tapping at the door.

To dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads across the land
The rewarding of his pain is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
Success is an enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray
For blood is the language of the band.

The Spanish bulls are beaten; the crowd is soon beguiled,
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is estatic, passion places bets
Gracefully he bows to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Then this overflow of life is crushed into a liar
The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire.
First a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night
Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
All the (canons|heavens) are horrified, they stagger from the sight
As the cross is trembling with desire.

They say they can't believe it, it's a sacreligious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
How did it happen?  I hope his suffering was small.
Tell me every detail, for I've got to know it all,
And do you have a picture of the pain?

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Time takes her toll and the memory fades
but his glory is broken, in the magic that he made.
Reality is ruined; it's the freeing from the fear
The drama is distorted, to what they want to hear
Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for a new thrill parade.

The eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind
To the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined
The child was created to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogy is read
The climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
And the cycle of sacrifice unwinds.

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe expodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the briliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he died.

 Phil Ochs

Un Canadien Errant
    
Un Canadien errant,
Banni de ses foyers,
Parcourait en pleurant
Des pays étrangers.

Un jour, triste et pensif,
 Assis au bord des flots,
 Au courant fugitif
 Il adressa ces mots:

"Si tu vois mon pays,
Mon pays malheureux,
Va, dis à mes amis
Que je me souviens d'eux.

"Ô jours si pleins d'appas
Vous êtes disparus,
Et ma patrie, hélas!
Je ne la verrai plus!

"Non, mais en expirant,
Ô mon cher Canada!
Mon regard languissant
Vers toi se portera..."

In Flanders Fields


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.


Dr. John McRae RCA  1872-1918

 

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.

Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
 

Randall Jarrell

Hymn of the Knights Templars
 

Mother of God! as evening falls   
  Upon the silent sea,   
And shadows veil the mountain walls,   
  We lift our souls to thee!   
From lurking perils of the night,            
  The desert's hidden harms,   
From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite,   
  Defend thy men-at-arms!   
 
Mother of God! thy starry smile   
  Still bless us from above!     
Keep pure our souls from passion's guile,   
  Our hearts from earthly love!   
Still save each soul from guilt apart   
  As stainless as each sword,   
And guard undimmed in every heart     
  The image of our Lord!   
 
In desert march or battle's flame,   
  In fortress and in field,   
Our war-cry is thy holy name,   
  Thy love our joy and shield!     
And if we falter, let thy power   
  Thy stern avenger be,   
And God forget us in the hour   
  We cease to think of thee!   
 
Mother of God! the evening fades     
  On wave and hill and lea,   
And in the twilight's deepening shades   
  We lift our souls to thee!   
In passion's stress—the battle's strife,   
  The desert's lurking harms,     
Maid-Mother of the Lord of Life,   
  Protect thy men-at-arms!

John Hay

On the monument marking the Battle of Thermopylae

Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by,
That here, obedient to their wishes, we lie.

Simonides

Destroyers in the Arctic

Camouflaged, they detach lengths of sea and sky
When they move; offset, speed and direction are a lie.

Everything is grey anyway; ships, water, snow, faces.
Flanking the convoy, we rarely go through our paces.

But sometimes on tightening waves at night they wheel
Drawing white moons on strings from dripping keel.

Cold cases them, like ships in glass; they are formal,
Not real, except in adversity. Then, too, have to seem normal.

At dusk they intensify, strung out, non-committal:
Waves spill from our wake, crêpe paper magnetized by gun metal.

They breathe silence, less solid than ghosts, ruminative
As the Arctic breaks up on their sides and they sieve

Moisture into mess-decks. Heat is cold-lined there,
Where we wait for a torpedo and lack air.

Repititive of each other, imitating the sea's lift and fall,
On the wings of the convoy they indicate rehearsal.

Merchantmen move sideways, with the gait of crustaceans,
Round whom like eels escorts take up their stations.

Landfall, Murmansk; but starboard now a lead-coloured
Island, Jan Mayen. Days identical, hoisted like sails, blurred.

Counters moved on an Admiralty map, snow like confetti
Covers the real us. We dream we are counterfeits tied to our jetty.

But cannot dream long; the sea curdles and sprawls,
Liverishly real, and merciless all else away from us falls.

Alan Ross

Bill's Grave


    I'm gatherin' flowers by the wayside to lay on the grave of Bill;
        I've sneaked away from the billet, 'cause Jim wouldn't understand;
    'E'd call me a silly fat'ead, and larf till it made 'im ill,
        To see me 'ere in the cornfield, wiv a big bookay in me 'and.

    For Jim and me we are rough uns, but Bill was one o' the best;
        We 'listed and learned together to larf at the wust wot comes;
    Then Bill copped a packet proper, and took 'is departure West,
        So sudden 'e 'adn't a minit to say good-bye to 'is chums.

    And they took me to where 'e was planted, a sort of a measly mound,
        And, thinks I, 'ow Bill would be tickled, bein' so soft and queer,
    If I gathered a bunch o' them wild-flowers, and sort of arranged them round
        Like a kind of a bloody headpiece . . . and that's the reason I'm 'ere.

    But not for the love of glory I wouldn't 'ave Jim to know.
        'E'd call me a slobberin' Cissy, and larf till 'is sides was sore;
    I'd 'ave larfed at meself too, it isn't so long ago;
        But some'ow it changes a feller, 'avin' a taste o' war.

    It 'elps a man to be 'elpful, to know wot 'is pals is worth
        (Them golden poppies is blazin' like lamps some fairy 'as lit);
    I'm fond o' them big white dysies. . . . Now Jim's o' the salt o' the earth;
        But 'e 'as got a tongue wot's a terror, and 'e ain't sentimental a bit.

    I likes them blue chaps wot's 'idin' so shylike among the corn.
        Won't Bill be glad! We was allus thicker 'n thieves, us three.
    Why! 'Oo's that singin' so 'earty? JIM! And as sure as I'm born
        'E's there in the giddy cornfields, a-gatherin' flowers like me.

    Quick! Drop me posy be'ind me. I watches 'im for a while,
        Then I says: "Wot 'o, there, Chummy! Wot price the little bookay?"
    And 'e starts like a bloke wot's guilty, and 'e says with a sheepish smile:
        "She's a bit of orl right, the widder wot keeps the estaminay."

    So 'e goes away in a 'urry, and I wishes 'im best o' luck,
        And I picks up me bunch o' wild-flowers, and the light's gettin' sorto dim,
    When I makes me way to the boneyard, and . . . I stares like a man wot's stuck, For wot do I see? Bill's grave-mound strewn with the flowers of   Jim.

    Of course I won't never tell 'im, bein' a tactical lad;
        And Jim parley-voos to the widder: "Trez beans, lamoor; compree?"
    Oh, 'e'd die of shame if 'e knew I knew; but say! won't Bill be glad
        When 'e stares through the bleedin' clods and sees the blossoms of Jim and me?
Robert  Service -

Tommy

  
I WENT into a public 'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, " We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' " Tommy, go away " ;
But it's " Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's " Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' " Tommy, wait outside ";
But it's " Special train for Atkins " when the trooper's on the tide
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's " Special train for Atkins " when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap.
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Tommy, 'ow's yer soul? "
But it's " Thin red line of 'eroes " when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's " Thin red line of 'eroes, " when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Tommy, fall be'ind,"
But it's " Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's " Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Chuck him out, the brute! "
But it's " Saviour of 'is country " when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An 'Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!



Kipling

To The RAF

Never since English ships went out
To singe the beard of Spain,
Or English sea-dogs hunted death
Along the Spanish Main,
Never since Drake and Raleigh won
Our freedom of the seas,
Have sons of Britain dared and done
More valiantly than these.

Whether at midnight or at noon,
Through mist or open sky,
Eagles of freedom, all our hearts
Are up with you on high;
While Britain's mighty ghosts look down
From realms beyond the sun
And whisper, as their record pales,
Their breathless, deep, Well Done!

Alfred Noyes