Poetry Blogs (2020, army)
Belgium was beastly cold in December of ’44.
Deep snow covered frozen ground as
shattered forests crackled and groaned
under the weight of ice.
We barely felt our feet,
even when we tried to warm them.
Frostbite was a constant threat.
The air was still; there was no wind.
Dense clouds covered the sky
and snowfall lent a misty haze
like falling fog.
We hoped for a quick end t...
Wednesday 25th March 2020 5:05 pm
Why I went back
A posthumous poem in the voice of Walter Tull – 28.04.1888 to 25.03.1918
Until you’ve been under fire
hunkered down in some funk hole
you’ll never know terror, the horror
or the damage to the soul
that just one barrage can do,
before you ever hear the whistle’s blast
that, sadly it’s true
for all too many,
signals this’ll be your last.
Friday 17th January 2020 6:44 am
By: Mirza Sharafat
Khushboo se mehakta aisa hi sansaar hota
ye mosam mere yaha har baar hota
tujhe manaana baar baar sirf hunar hai mera
tera roothna phir kis qadar dushwaar hota
tu kar chuka hai soda emaan ka, ehsaas ka
bawajood iske tu kabhi sharamsaar hota
fakhr e talwaar wo, qatil e kufaar hota
youm e ashoor hamrah Hussain ke Mukhtaar hota
tu haar chuka hai baazi Sharafat ki jung me
Tuesday 29th August 2017 5:22 am
Army recruiters indeed focus their efforts on C2DE youths in northern cities:
Tuesday 11th July 2017 10:32 am
When you are a teenager,
You might get asked who your hero is.
And answers may vary
From celebrities to parents.
But my hero is my brother.
My brother is my hero because,
He always cares for me
And he never gives up on you,
No matter who you are.
And so much more.
My brother is my hero because
When I'm i...
Thursday 7th April 2016 3:13 pm
The army and fucking
Folks just need to know
The army will get you shot
Why the confusion?
Commercials don’t impress me
guns are loud, and blood is depressing
héros are human
bullets are real
Life is a deep breath you don’t wanna lose
young men with no options
thanks for your death
I can buy contraception
from a man from a country who shot you
Thursday 21st January 2016 7:53 pm
C’mon lads – equal opportunities, join up for your country,
we need you to do your service. Meat grinder of death needs oiling
with your body fat and intestines.
You’ll get a medal for your success, tell your grandchildren
of your valour and heroism.
I want your blood to flow down the street,
turn it red, slippery like myself.
Wednesday 23rd November 2011 10:48 pm
My dad, no hero, didn't look
for punch-ups. When the call came
he signed for the pay corps.
But the look on his face
sometimes got him into bother.
He couldn't quite stomach the drilling,
or hide what he thought
of the shouts, the how's your father,
the moustache and tiny eyes,
the whole bloody rigmarole of the sergeant major.
One night in ...
Tuesday 23rd February 2010 8:37 pm