The Somme


I have no grave
Fate and shell
have denied me of a place to rest
I have a name
Engraved high on the Menim Gate
Stand on tiptoe to find
Amongst the many
~
Those from Eton’s fields
We from city slums
Joined in unlikely union
Answered the call of the patriotic drum
The women who gave
A kiss to the brave
A white feather for the hesitant
~
The innocent marched to the old songs
The few that returned did not sing for you
~
We stand on the fire step
Above us the bank of earth and bones
We call for pity, and are given rum
The guns fall silent
Cordite mixed with the stench of fear
On the duckboards below
A trench rat scuttles for safety
~
Old faces on young shoulders
Those who live with their demons
Those who are indifferent to them
Those who long for a snipers bullet
A free passport to oblivion
Light stars on the lifting dawn
We climb into hell
~
Do not pray for no one is listening
God has turned his face in disgust
Now I wander Flanders fields
I am in the wind that brushes your cheek
A whisper of twenty thousand voices
Listen, can you hear?
Somewhere another drum is beating
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The Somme 1916 the graveyard of youth; 20,000 British dead on the first day. We never learn ‘Somewhere another drum is beating’
Tomorrow the 1st of July marks the 100 anniversary of the first day of The Battle of the Somme. I posted this poem some weeks ago and my apologies for re-posting but this is my tribute to those young men who were fed into a human meat grinder to satisfy the egos of old men who pushed the little flags forward for the next day.