Memorial Day

5 comments

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  Anonymous says:

  May 29, 2006 at 11:23 pm

  War is so senseless!

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  major dude says:

  May 30, 2006 at 11:06 am

  In time of need their will was sure:
  American, their freedom pure

  Protecting our life and liberty:
  Unselfishly, they keep us free

  Each soldier knows what is at stake:
  The risk is grave, make no mistake

  With pride they serve our country strong:
  They face each foe who comes along

  Remember them while in your home,
  or where you choose to freely roam

  Don’t take for granted what you see,
  some left this life, so yours could be

  To God I urge you all to pray,
  For soldiers brave, this memorial day

  Let us be thankful, for freedoms, our home:
  For those who fell protecting my right to publish this tome.

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  Anonymous says:

  May 30, 2006 at 11:12 am

  In Flanders Fields
  by John McCrae

  In Flanders fields the poppies blow
  Between the crosses, row on row,
  That mark our place; and in the sky
  The larks, still bravely singing, fly
  Scarce heard amid the guns below.

  We are the Dead. Short days ago
  We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
  Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
  In Flanders fields.

  Take up our quarrel with the foe:
  To you from failing hands we throw
  The torch; be yours to hold it high.
  If ye break faith with us who die
  We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
  In Flanders fields.

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  Michael C.M. says:

  May 30, 2006 at 1:57 pm

  A heartfelt thanks to those who have served to protect us(and those who continue to do so and those who will do so)

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  Vohaul says:

  May 30, 2006 at 4:06 pm

  Now when I was a young man I carried me pack
  And I lived the free life of the rover.
  From the Murray’s green basin to the dusty outback,
  Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
  Then in 1915, my country said, “Son,
  It’s time you stop ramblin’, there’s work to be done.”
  So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
  And they marched me away to the war.

  And the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
  As the ship pulled away from the quay,
  And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,
  We sailed off for Gallipoli.

  And how well I remember that terrible day,
  How our blood stained the sand and the water;
  And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
  We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
  Johnny Turk, he was waitin’, he primed himself well;
  He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell —
  And in five minutes flat, he’d blown us all to hell,
  Nearly blew us right back to Australia.

  But the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
  When we stopped to bury our slain,
  Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
  Then we started all over again.

  And those that were left, well, we tried to survive
  In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
  And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
  Though around me the corpses piled higher.
  Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
  And when I woke up in me hospital bed
  And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead —
  Never knew there was worse things than dying.

  For I’ll go no more “Waltzing Matilda,”
  All around the green bush far and free —
  To hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
  No more “Waltzing Matilda” for me.

  So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
  And they shipped us back home to Australia.
  The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
  Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
  And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,
  I looked at the place where me legs used to be,
  And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
  To grieve, to mourn and to pity.

  But the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
  As they carried us down the gangway,
  But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
  Then they turned all their faces away.

  And so now every April, I sit on my porch
  And I watch the parade pass before me.
  And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
  Reviving old dreams of past glory,
  And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore,
  They’re tired old heroes from a forgotten war
  And the young people ask “What are they marching for?”
  And I ask meself the same question.

  But the band plays “Waltzing Matilda,”
  And the old men still answer the call,
  But as year follows year, more old men disappear
  Someday, no one will march there at all.

  Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda.
  Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
  And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
  Who’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me? (Eric Bogle)

  nothing more to be said … be proud, be free, but think about the caption: look out! there is a war!? – but nobody is going …

  (Vohaul)