Poetry is for Fags

[DunbarFC]

"To read without reflecting is like eating without digesting."

"There is no safety for honest men but by believing all possible evil of evil men."

"Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little."

Edmund Burke

[Gypsy]

One of my favorites....


King Henry: What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss, and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will, I pray thee not wish one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor do I care who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more, me thinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach for this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand o' tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse himself at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors
And say "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
Old men forget; yet all be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall be remembered--
we few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day.

[NousDefionsDoc]

The only thing about this mission we
Disliked was knowledge that our failure to
Return would be a veil to hide our fate
Forever from the people who should know.
But even this could not put down our high
Excitement as we dropped into the pit
Of night and listened, after parachutes
Were open, to the fading motors of the plane,
Remembering the pilot's grin
And the good luck sign already a vision from the past.
Whatever ground it was that rose to meet
Our groping feet, you may be sure it gave
Us all the cloak and dagger stuff that we'd been itching for.
In secret files, in secret hearts.

Joseph A. Bourdow OSS
Infantry Journal , June 1948

[Smokin Joe]

Gypsy you beat me to it...but here is another of my favorites

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the walls up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood."
-- King Henry V before the attack on the city of Harfleur

[Smokin Joe]

In the simple performance of duty,
he pinned on a badge,
checked his gear with a practiced eye,
and kissed his loved ones good-bye.
In the simple performance of duty,
he reported for work,
joked with his buddies at roll call,
and made his last trip down the squadroom hall.
In the simple performance of duty,
he answered the call
to help the helpless, to find the lost,
no matter the danger or how great the cost.
In the simple performance of duty,
he lay down his life,
for those in peril he tried to save,
our brave friend went to his grave.
In the simple performance of duty,
we honor his deed,
as we carry him to rest in a flag-draped casket,
long after the world has forgotten, we shall never forget.
Never judge or regret, what he did, In the simple performance of duty.

[Gypsy]

Smokin Joe...that is another great one.

And your second...very touching, I haven't read that before.

[Smokin Joe]

This page has all of my favorite LEO poems. Too many to post on here, and some are real tear jerkers.

[GackMan]

Soldier

I was that which others did not want to be.

I went where others feared to go, and did what others failed to do

I asked nothing from those who gave nothing and reluctantly
accepted the thought of eternal loneliness...should I fail.

I have seen the face of terror; felt the stinging cold of fear;
and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment's love.

I have cried, pained, and hoped...but most of all,
I have lived times others would say were best forgotten.

At least someday I will be able to say that I was proud
of what I was .... a soldier.

George L. Skypeck

[GackMan]

Dear Lord,

Thank you for the life you bestowed upon us,
and the opportunity in life to serve others.

We ask that you bless those we have left behind,
and comfort them in the knowledge that we died well.

Yet in death our spirit soars,
in our flag our honor waves,
and preserved in every Marine Sword,
the legacy of our deeds.

May we meet again on that field where Warriors meet,
in that place known only to God;

Go now,
I humbly ask,
and prepare a place for me.

AMEN

Sergeant Karl Clark Lippard

[GackMan]

Last, one of my favorites:



An Irish Airman foresees his Death

I KNOW that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

- W.B. Yeats

[Radar Rider]

Originally posted by NousDefionsDoc
“Go tell the Spartans, travelers passing by, that here, obedient to their laws we lie.�

Unknown

Have you seen the movie "Go Tell the Spartans"? If not please do. It is my favorite movie, and I'm sure that you would appreciate it, too.

[Ockham's Razor]

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Alfred, Lord Tennyson



Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.


Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.


When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

[Radar Rider]

"Iron Maiden" (the band) bases their songs on historical events. The song "The Trooper" details the tragedy of the charge of the light brigade. Quite the tragic event.

[Solid]

Not directly about warriors, but the spirit of it I feel is connected:

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Ockham's Razor]

Yay! A poem about death. Thanks for the inspiration, Solid.

Will not go gently into that good light.