The spellings is not so inportant in this work. The character is a Tommy , with very little educate . Talking to you , from the Front.
Sweetest of words!
We dug in , not easy
Ground clay , and wet
At that!
No joke I can tell you
Fer nothfing
Hard going , worter
Just , pores through
No 'ole appears ,
Ter , get in to!
Seeing them Germans
In a line , approaching 'os
Shells droping around 'os
We had no need of the Sargs
Screming at 'os
We dig , dig , till a bit of an 'ole
Is made , we get in , bloody wet
Soggy fooking clay 'Ole , but it's 'ome!
We traine our rifles on old Fritz
Waite for orders to open fire
Shells drop , parts of mens heads , arms
Hands , fingers , arms , legs , all over the place
Screams , German , English , screams
Pity , that Kipling woz not hear to write of the gloryes
Deaths hear abouts!
Two of me chums , die ither side , of me
One has his head cut clean off , to'ther one
Got it in the throat , ripped out!
Them , Smuge and Gordy , coping it , like , well , savde me bacon!
Smugde Owde me five bob! , When this woz over , I'd go through
His his stuff , get me five bob , five shillings is five bob , and woz mine!
Thats war that is , no accounting who lives or dies , you just hopes
You live , while others dies! Name of the game survival!
He died slowly , like , looking at me , his eye begging me to help
Him , he was beyond any help , right now , it was number one
I had to look affter , ME!
At last orders given '' OPEN FIRE! '' '' RAPID FIRE! ''
That we did , like being at a fair , shooting , watching the ducks fall!
We opened up , rifles , our MG's , rater tatering , artillery , letting loos
Their shells!
Old Friz , coping hell , over they went , in bunches , cut down like Autumn wheat
And the fields , were showing wheat , only it was us and the Germans harvesting
A crop of death , arms , legs , heads , trunks , blown sky high!
The Germans had us spotted , shells were landing amongst us , this was hell let Loose on Gods earth , I fink them Huns belivde in 'im to!
The Hun heading our way , Getting ever closer to us
I 'ad a right thirst on me , I could drink the nearby canal , dry , and thats no lie!
Then we got the order:'' FIX BAYONETS! ''
Fritz , now upon us , he , hesitates , I dont , I jab 'im in his belly , soft you see
Pull me bayonet out , hit 'im with me rifle but , not before , his gushing blood
Al's over me jacket , yup me a bleeding red cote now!
We'r in the thick of it , especially ME! It felt to me!
Saw a chum , who'd not remembered the drill
He'd stuck a Fritz , in the chest , yea you guest it right , his bayonet woz stuck!
Silly , sod , tried to free it , a Friz, stuck him in the side , chummy , dide , slowly
Hands trying to stop the breeding , his blood was gushing , spurting out , hope Running out
I stuck me bayonet , in the Germans neck! , he was a bleeder , but , not killing me
All around , men died , scremde , '' Mersy , Mersey , Komarad '' , well none of that Given! Kill or be killde , them or us! Name of the game!
The fighting , quieten down , not many left to kill , or die of them or us
Someone shouted a warning , I ducked , just in time , German bayonet , fleshed Harmless , parsed me , sun catching its sharp edge
I fired , me rifle , instinct , I had one round in the breech , took the top of his scull
Exposing his brain , to the world , did not kill him , at least he could not kill me!
The fight petted out , the odd shot , some scuffling , some argy-bargy
Then it went quiet , we gathered up our wounded , yes I checked me dead chums
Pocket's got me five bob , well it was mine! He owed it me!
We cared away our wooded , just as the Fritz's began shelling us
We got the fook away
I look at the Erick I'd shot , he was still a live , bugger all I could do for him
I ewas about to joine me chums , when a shell dropde close by , to close
Me legs , cut off at the knees , my time to die had arivde
Ken D Williams
The Dyslexic Wordsmith
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 593 times
Written on 2014-06-22 at 22:01
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TIME TO DIG IN!
Orders finaly to ''dig in ''Sweetest of words!
We dug in , not easy
Ground clay , and wet
At that!
No joke I can tell you
Fer nothfing
Hard going , worter
Just , pores through
No 'ole appears ,
Ter , get in to!
Seeing them Germans
In a line , approaching 'os
Shells droping around 'os
We had no need of the Sargs
Screming at 'os
We dig , dig , till a bit of an 'ole
Is made , we get in , bloody wet
Soggy fooking clay 'Ole , but it's 'ome!
We traine our rifles on old Fritz
Waite for orders to open fire
Shells drop , parts of mens heads , arms
Hands , fingers , arms , legs , all over the place
Screams , German , English , screams
Pity , that Kipling woz not hear to write of the gloryes
Deaths hear abouts!
Two of me chums , die ither side , of me
One has his head cut clean off , to'ther one
Got it in the throat , ripped out!
Them , Smuge and Gordy , coping it , like , well , savde me bacon!
Smugde Owde me five bob! , When this woz over , I'd go through
His his stuff , get me five bob , five shillings is five bob , and woz mine!
Thats war that is , no accounting who lives or dies , you just hopes
You live , while others dies! Name of the game survival!
He died slowly , like , looking at me , his eye begging me to help
Him , he was beyond any help , right now , it was number one
I had to look affter , ME!
At last orders given '' OPEN FIRE! '' '' RAPID FIRE! ''
That we did , like being at a fair , shooting , watching the ducks fall!
We opened up , rifles , our MG's , rater tatering , artillery , letting loos
Their shells!
Old Friz , coping hell , over they went , in bunches , cut down like Autumn wheat
And the fields , were showing wheat , only it was us and the Germans harvesting
A crop of death , arms , legs , heads , trunks , blown sky high!
The Germans had us spotted , shells were landing amongst us , this was hell let Loose on Gods earth , I fink them Huns belivde in 'im to!
The Hun heading our way , Getting ever closer to us
I 'ad a right thirst on me , I could drink the nearby canal , dry , and thats no lie!
Then we got the order:'' FIX BAYONETS! ''
Fritz , now upon us , he , hesitates , I dont , I jab 'im in his belly , soft you see
Pull me bayonet out , hit 'im with me rifle but , not before , his gushing blood
Al's over me jacket , yup me a bleeding red cote now!
We'r in the thick of it , especially ME! It felt to me!
Saw a chum , who'd not remembered the drill
He'd stuck a Fritz , in the chest , yea you guest it right , his bayonet woz stuck!
Silly , sod , tried to free it , a Friz, stuck him in the side , chummy , dide , slowly
Hands trying to stop the breeding , his blood was gushing , spurting out , hope Running out
I stuck me bayonet , in the Germans neck! , he was a bleeder , but , not killing me
All around , men died , scremde , '' Mersy , Mersey , Komarad '' , well none of that Given! Kill or be killde , them or us! Name of the game!
The fighting , quieten down , not many left to kill , or die of them or us
Someone shouted a warning , I ducked , just in time , German bayonet , fleshed Harmless , parsed me , sun catching its sharp edge
I fired , me rifle , instinct , I had one round in the breech , took the top of his scull
Exposing his brain , to the world , did not kill him , at least he could not kill me!
The fight petted out , the odd shot , some scuffling , some argy-bargy
Then it went quiet , we gathered up our wounded , yes I checked me dead chums
Pocket's got me five bob , well it was mine! He owed it me!
We cared away our wooded , just as the Fritz's began shelling us
We got the fook away
I look at the Erick I'd shot , he was still a live , bugger all I could do for him
I ewas about to joine me chums , when a shell dropde close by , to close
Me legs , cut off at the knees , my time to die had arivde
Ken D Williams
The Dyslexic Wordsmith
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 593 times
Written on 2014-06-22 at 22:01
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