This about my day , a part of my day.


I popped in to a charity , animals I think , I recall , I find a few ,

bargains in books , weakens of mine I have to say , I spotted a book ,

I read ''Dardanelles!'' on the cover ,

with my strong personal family interest in what happen there

The book I had to have!

when I reached my house,

I had hunted down me specks , could only find the pair with with the one

lence left in the frame

I tried me best to read the book , kinder hard as I had to have one eye shut

eavrey so offtan I'd lay the book down I'd search the room for the specks

with both lenses still fixt in the frames must be a record , almost three


got them cheap in the pound shop gave up went back to the book , try, try

again well I did try, try again , I can be rather trying I have to say the book

is well written , not as some academics books are like , boring , good at

sending me off to sleep

well I decided I'd make my self a cupper , so to the kichan I went , I vaigly

I tend to be rather vaig it has to be said recall I may have had course to

need my doubled lensed specks their , so I searched , well bugger me , their

they were , I'd needed them to read the 'how to use your new cooker''


remembered I may just have needed me specks to work it out , still no wiser

goner take me mates , Keith's advice , ask me sis next, time she's around, as I

am deferentially technically challenge , with such as tecky things as cookers

found the specks slid beside the slow cooker , yup I managed to work that

teckey cooking thing out , took just three days , ok more like three weeks

so I picket them up , put them on , forgot to put on the kettle , so back to

the book I went

decided to look at the pitches , saw a pitcher of the sckleacal remains of

New Zealands , all in a line taken at Chunuk Baire some time after the war

theirs a solder , may be a New Zealander , could be a Turk , the Turks treated

the dead of their former enamys with great respect it must be said , he is

stood smartly at attention , saluting , those about to be buried

next I looked at pitches of dead British , Aussies , Kiwis , Turks, laying in no

man's land awaiting burial , or blown to smithereens

of a Digger carrying his mate down to the beach , back bent , knees ,

unbending, as he carried his mate down , not complaing , jaw set determined

to get him down , get him fixst up

of an Aussy sharing his water bottle with a wounded Turk , the Aussy has his

riffle in his left hand all 18 inches of steal on the end of his Lee Enfield rifle

''sorry Abdule , I stab your , nothing personal , mate''

'at leased I did not gut your , '' you'l be fine mate , hear have a swig of

me walter, drink as much as you like , mate''

I like to think the Australian said to the wounded Turk

Walter was worth more than gold , gold you cant drink , nor eat

pitches of solders at ease , in between , dyeing , killing , being waisted,

pitcher, of soldier looking thro a periscope , spotting for a sniper

CRACK! some pore Turkish mums son gone to the snipers skill

A pitcher of two nurses , dressed in grate coats down to their shapel

girlish ankle's , both maidan's , but mothers to countless men

They sit beside the beds, held the hands of men as they waited

to die crying, screaming for their mothers back home

I see a pitcher hear of an Australian father and son , no names

or how they come to have joined up together nor if they savvied , may be

they now lay side by side , in the Dardanelles over looking the blue

Agenan sea

theirs a pitcher of a general up a tree ,

cheeking out the the Turkish position

in front , planing the pre post, pointless attack , pointless death's

chills my blood , 90 years on,

pity he was not shot , may have saved a few , nay,

many life's of both sides,

I turn a page , it's rather grainy , just make out rowing boats , slowly

making for a beach , cant rely make out who was in those life boats (sick)

I read the writing under the pitcher '....Lancashire Fusiliers heading for ''W''

Beach , 'Many of these men would be dead with in minuets after this pitcher

was taken''

yes, I was looking at a pitcher of boats carrying my granddad, Jo,

in to battle ,

and yes, I had tears by now in my eyes , had to remove my specks , rub my

tear ducks , deep in thought .

The title of the book? ''Damn the Dardanelles!''


Poetry by ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 1149 times
Written on 2007-06-09 at 00:58

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I love the flow of this. Being with you in your thoughts and memories as you hunt for your glasses and take in your book, going through the pictures, imagining what they might be saying, reading the captions... But there's even more here. It's like life meeting history or something- those lost to war alive again as you discover them in the pages of the book, because you truly 'see' them. That combined with the real life movement of you in contrast {yet faintly similar} makes this an altogether excellent write. *applaud*

I still get teary eyed reading about Gallipoli. My forebears weren't old enough to even sneak into military service at that time. But it is a period that has touched so many in various continents.

I must also add that I love charity shops too, for the book section. Like you, I have found some treasures! LUV.

Blew me away. A definite applaud, as usual. The beginning had me laughint, the end had me almost crying. Good on you for this. Dyslexia has an advantage, as, knowing that u have this problem, I read a lot slower than usual. The result is always the same -applause and applaude. (Wish there was a double applaud option, i would give it...) Luv, normalil

Not only interesting but also enjoyable Ken, glad you found your spectacles in the end.

Amazing. Blow by blow of an almost mythical symbolism clashing with literal translation. Love it, sir. Love it.