Key World War 1 poetry

WAR GIRLS         By Jessie Pope  

 'There's the girl who clips your ticket for the train,
And the girl who speeds the lift from floor to floor,
There's the girl who does a milk-round in the rain,
And the girl who calls for orders at your door.
Strong, sensible, and fit,
They're out to show their grit,
And tackle jobs with energy and knack.
No longer caged and penned up,
They're going to keep their end up
'Til the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

There's the motor girl who drives a heavy van,
There's the butcher girl who brings your joint of meat,
There's the girl who calls 'All fares please!' like a man,
And the girl who whistles taxi's up the street.
Beneath each uniform
Beats a heart that's soft and warm,
Though of canny mother-wit they show no lack;
But a solemn statement this is,
They've no time for love and kisses
Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

Recruiting By Ewart Alam Mackintosh 'Lads, you're wanted, go and help,'
On the railway carriage wall
Stuck the poster, and I thought
Of the hands that penned the call.

Fat civilians wishing they
'Could go out and fight the Hun.'
Can't you see them thanking God
That they're over forty-one?

Girls with feathers, vulgar songs -
"Washy verse on England's need -
God - and don't we damned well know
How the message ought to read.

'Lads, you're wanted! over there,'
Shiver in the morning dew,
More poor devils like yourselves
Waiting to be killed by you.

Go and help to swell the names
In the casualty lists.
Help to make a column's stuff
For the blasted journalists.

Help to keep them nice and safe
From the wicked German foe.
Don't let him come over here!
'Lads, you're wanted - out you go.'

            *  *  *  *  *
There's a better word than that,
Lads, and can't you hear it come
From a million men that call
You to share their martyrdom.

Leave the harlots still to sing
Comic songs about the Hun,
Leave the fat old men to say
Now we've got them on the run.

Better twenty honest years
Than their dull three score and ten.
Lads, you're wanted. Come and learn
To live and die with honest men.

You shall learn what men can do
If you will but pay the price,
Learn the gaiety and strength
In the gallant sacrifice.

Take your risk of life and death
Underneath the open sky.
Live clean or go out quick -
Lads, you're wanted. Come and die.

Lamentations By Seigfried sassoon I found him in the guard-room at the Base.  
From the blind darkness I had heard his crying  
And blundered in. With puzzled, patient face  
A sergeant watched him; it was no good trying  
To stop it; for he howled and beat his chest.
And, all because his brother had gone west,  
Raved at the bleeding war; his rampant grief  
Moaned, shouted, sobbed, and choked, while he was kneeling  
Half-naked on the floor. In my belief  
Such men have lost all patriotic feeling.

Suicide In The Trenches By Siegfried sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Waste by G.A.Studdert Kennedy

Wate of muscle, waste of brain,

wate of patience, waste of pain,

waste of manhood, waste of health,

waste of beuty, wate of wealth,

wate of blood and waste of tears,

waste of youths most precious years,

waste of ways the saints have trod,

waste of glory, waste of God,-

                   War!

Fallen by Alice Corbin He was wounded and he fell in the midst of hoarse shouting.
The tide passed, and the waves came and whispered about his ankles.
Far off he heard a **** crow -- children laughing,
Rising at dawn to greet the storm of petals
Shaken from apple-boughs; he heard them cry,
And turned again to find the breast of her,
And sank confusèd with a little sigh...
Thereafter water running, and a voice
That seemed to stir and flutter through the trenches
And set dead lips to talking...

Wreckage was mingled with the storm of petals...

He felt her near him, and the weight dropped off --
    Suddenly...

Over The Top by Sybil Bistowe

Ten more minutes! – Say yer prayers,

Read yer Bibles, pass the rum!
Ten more minutes! Strike me dumb,
'Ow they creeps on unawares,
Those blooming minutes. Nine. It's queer,
I'm sorter stunned. It ain't with fear!

Eight. It's like as if a frog
Waddled round in your inside,
Cold as ice-blocks, straddle wide,
Tired o' waiting. Where's the grog?
Seven. I'll play yer pitch and toss –
Six. – I wins, and tails yer loss.

'Nother minute sprinted by
'Fore I knowed it; only Four
(Break 'em into seconds) more
'Twixt us and Eternity.
Every word I've ever said
Seems a-shouting in my head.

Three. Larst night a little star
Fairly shook up in the sky,
Didn't like the lullaby
Rattled by the dogs of War.
Funny thing – that star all white
Saw old Blighty, too, larst night.

Two. I ain't ashamed o' prayers,
They're only wishes sent ter God
Bits o' plants from bloody sod
Trailing up His golden stairs.
Ninety seconds – Well, who cares!
One –
No fife, no blare, no drum –
Over the Top – to Kingdom Come!

Soldier - Rupert Brooke
"There is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England"
"A richer dust concealed"

Who's for the Game? - Jessie Pope
"The red crashing game of a fight"

In Flander's Fields - John McCrae
"We shall not sleep though poppies grown in Flander's fields"

Disabled - Wilfred Owen

"Someone said I'd look a God in kilts"
"Some cheered us home but not like crowds cheer goals"

The Armistice - May Wedderburn Cannan
"Knew that peace would not bring back her dead"

Manslaughter Morning - A E Tomlinson
"A name amongst nameless names"
"Limbs ache with war"

Shouted for Blood - Janet Begbie
"Hard for your wife to read"

On the Wire - Robert Service
"Is it God doesn't care?"

A Dead Boche - Robert Graves
"War's Hell!"
"Dribbling black blood"

By Dawns Early Light - Kanneix
"Rainbow of blood"
"Carved by a devil"

Forward the Light Brigade - Alfred Tennyson
"Volley'd and thunder'd"
"Jaws of death"

Suicide in the Trenches - Sassoon
"Sneak home and pray you'll never know, the hell which youth and laughter go"

"Back" by Wilfred Gibson

 THEY ask me where I've been, And what I've done and seen. But what can I reply Who know it wasn't I, But someone just like me, Who went across the sea And with my head and hands Killed men in foreign lands . . . Though I must bear the blame Because he bore my name.

Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,
The red crashing game of a fight?
Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid?
And who thinks he’d rather sit tight?
Who’ll toe the line for the signal to ‘Go!’?
Who’ll give his country a hand?
Who wants a turn to himself in the show?
And who wants a seat in the stand?
Who knows it won’t be a picnic – not much-
Yet eagerly shoulders a gun?
Who would much rather come back with a crutch
Than lie low and be out of the fun?
Come along, lads –
But you’ll come on all right –
For there’s only one course to pursue,
Your country is up to her neck in a fight,
And she’s looking and calling for you.