Remembrance Day
On November 11th, at 11:00 am, I urge those of you who have read this page to join me in commemorating Remembrance Day by observing two minutes of silence - in memory of all those who died on countless battlefields. For God or for Country, for Patriotism or To Protect the Motherland... for any of the thousands of reasons, most of them invented by politicians to settle their private grudges - but paid for by the blood of soldiers.
It may be that they were mistaken. It may be that they were misled. The fact is, they were there - these men and women who laid down their lives for something they believed in; these warriors who stood the final test and gave of themselves that which no coward will ever know. May whatever their Gods were watch over them, all through Eternity - for they are The Brave.
Here are a few poems that commemorate these brave souls; whether soldiers, sailors, or airmen - to those who gave their all.
"The Song of the Dead"
Rudyard KiplingPart II
We have fed our sea for a thousand years
And she calls us, still unfed,
Though there's never a wave of all her waves
But marks our English dead:
We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest,
To the shark and the sheering gull.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid in full!There's never a flood goes shoreward now
But lifts a keel we manned;
There's never an ebb goes seaward now
But drops our dead on the sand -
But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,
From the Ducies to the Swin.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid it in!We must feed our sea for a thousand years,
For that is our doom and pride,
As it was when they sailed with the "Golden Hind",
Or the wreck that struck last tide -
Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef
Where the ghastly blue-lights flare.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!
Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
Randall Jarell, US Army Air CorpsFrom 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.
In Flanders Fields
Lt.-Col. John McCrae, Canadian military physicianIn 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.
Reply to "In Flanders Fields"
John MitchellOh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your failing hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below
You are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow
We'll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry
For freedom's cause, of you who lie
So still asleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.As rumbling sound, to and fro
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear and high
Above the din of battle cry
Scarce heard amidst the guns below
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
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Benjamin OkopnikThe Choice of the GNU Generation!
