Poems begining by &
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21st September 1870
© Charles Kingsley
Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
1936
© Stephen Vincent Benet
All night they marched, the infantrymen under pack,
But the hands gripping the rifles were naked bone
And the hollow pits of the eyes stared, vacant and black,
When the moonlight shone.
1916 seen from 1921
© Edmund Blunden
Tired with dull grief, grown old before my day,
I sit in solitude and only hear
100,000 Pennies
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I broke into the bank on Sunday,
You should see the money I got.
I couldn't drag it home 'til Monday,
'Cause it sure weighed an awful lot.
1914
© Wilfred Owen
For after Spring had bloomed in early Greece,
And Summer blazed her glory out with Rome,
An Autumn softly fell, a harvest home,
A slow grand age, and rich with all increase.
But now, for us, wild Winter, and the need
Of sowings for new Spring, and blood for seed.
1946-47
© Jibanananda Das
Thousands of Bengali villages, silent and powerless, sink into
hopelessness and lightlessness.
When the sun sets, a certain lovely haired darkness
Comes to fix her hair in-a bun-but by whose hands?
1914
© John Jay Chapman
ALAS, too much we loved the glittering wares
That art and education had devised
4th July, 1882, Malines. Midnight.
© James Kenneth Stephen
Belgian, with cumbrous tread and iron boots,
Who in the murky middle of the night,
Designing to renew the foul pursuits
In which thy life is passed, ill-favoured wight,
2 Flies
© Charles Bukowski
The flies are angry bits of life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
149th Chorus
© Jack Kerouac
I keep falling in love
with my mother,
I dont want to hurt her
-Of all people to hurt.
1914 III: The Dead
© Rupert Brooke
Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,
Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.
Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,
And paid his subjects with a royal wage;
And Nobleness walks in our ways again;
And we have come into our heritage.
1914 I: Peace
© Rupert Brooke
Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
1914 V: The Soldier
© Rupert Brooke
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
