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ASF Poetry Thread

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THE FIRST LAW OF XENOPHANES
Xenophanes 570 BC – 475BC
“If horses could draw, they would draw their gods like horses”

Praps if Horses could take courses and could take a page and draw
they would Draw their god’s as horses (that is Zenophane’s first law)
just as White men draw a white man, just as black men draw their kin
as abDullah draws an Arab, so too Moses draws his twin.

we may Wonder where we’re going, we may wonder whence we came
and whose Dice what god is throwing in which fatalistic game
and i’m Tracing here on cellophane what he has said before
re-creAting old man (X)Zenophane, who lived so long before.

this man Lived, in ancient Greece it was, 500 odd BC
yet he Had the golden fleece to help see things so hard to see
men are Red and men are yellow, this one whiter than a cloud
as one Starts, with age, to mellow, one stops caring why and how.

what we Need are more free thinkers who accept it’s for the best
to reJect religions blinkered with a call of “who cares less”
think inStead of earth and planet, how we all need sun and rain
and to Find men’s fire and fan it, that they empathise with pain.

more free Thinkers that accept this place and its inherent worth
and the Beauty of its inner space, this ball that we call earth
and play Down those “Hells and Heavens” and the speculation wild
concenTrate on Mother Nature, and the homeland of our child.

did we Land from outer galaxies, in space suits or the nud,
or in Edin full of apple seeds, or some primeval mud
just as Astronauts draw spaceships, here we find his second law
there is No way known of knowing , which god’s less and which is more.

just Picture forests drawing gods – with creeks where birds can drink
(forget grey beards we saw on gods to which our creeds are linked )
they would Probly tell us soundly not to bother with “our share”
but to Take care of this treasure, Mother Earth, that’s in our care.
 
"Get On Your Knees And Fight Like A Man"
2 Corinthians 10:4, James 5:16
Words and Music by Bob Hartman

Out on your own with your own self reliance
You've got no one to watch your back
You find yourself caught with no strong alliance
You've been left open for attack
Over your head the condition is graver
You've given ground you can't retreive
The cards are stacked and they're not in your favor
But you've got an ace up your sleeve

Get on your knees and fight like a man
You'll pull down strongholds if you just believe you can
Your enemy will tuck his tail and flee
Get on your knees and fight like a man

Under the gun you've got no place to hide out
Backed in the corner on your own

This is one storm you are destined to ride out

One way to leave the danger zone
You've got the backbone to fight this tide
You've got the will to survive
You've got the weapon, it's at your side
You've got to learn to confide
 
"Torment"
Michelle Hyde


In the shadows I hide,
With torn love and faded pride.
You sought me out,
Now I begin to shout.
“Let me be! ”
“I wish to be free! ”
Shadows begin to take flight,
As you begin your endless plight.
All of my pain and my tears,
Along with my greatest fears.
Take you higher,
On this roller coaster of twisted desire.
 
"To Love Somebody"
Leonard Cohen

There's a light, a very special light,
never ever shone on me.
I would like my whole life to be,
with someone like you ...
with someone ... with someone like ...

You don't know what it's like,
to love somebody,
the way I love you.

There's a way, a very special way,
To look at each and every single thing.
Ah, but what good would that bring,
if I ain't got you ...
if I ain't ... if I ain't got you.

You don't know what it's like,
I don't think you really, really know what it's like,
to love somebody,
the way I love you.

Baby, you don't know what it's like,
You, you just don't know what it's like,
to love somebody,
to love
the way I love you.

 
"Table Manners"
Robert M Wilson


The drinks, the conversation
are just appetizers.

Your face is the full course,
all I hunger for.

At all times, in all places,
everything else

is background
to the banquet of you.
 
"Offended"
Gershon Hepner

Free and always open-ended,
democracies accept the critic,
but extremists who’re offended
by cartoons don’t. Hypocritic
are those who would attempt to silence

the freedom of dissenters’ speech,

resorting to a hateful violence
which they glorify and teach.

We must reject the faith of those

who hold it right to silence others,

leading to most bloody blows
with men they do not see as brothers.
Stranger turns into intruder
once he’s willing to be killer;
Alle Menschen werden Brueder
Ludwig sang””hooray for Schiller.
 
A TOAST TO ABSENT FRIENDS

Suppose I'm feeling down depressed, the world's about to sink,
Or find myself a frowning mess, I only have to think
Of good men, better men than I, where I have outlived them,
I hear my thoughts first question why - then I seize this daily gem.

They left this world at fifty praps, suppose I'm fifty-five,
That represents five bonus laps that I have been alive,
I've had the chance these sixty moons, these eighteen hundred days,
To toast the sunrise, toast the noon, and toast the sunset rays.

And toast my friends alive and gone, and toast life's wondrous ways.
 
NOTES ON SOCRATES AND VIRTUE, Though I Sadly Come Up Short

we are All here individuals, yet all a part of one
one Mass of man’s existence, yet one misfit someone’s son
some Fight off human bias and some stand by deaf and dumb
and some Die a saintly pious, and some fight for cake and crumb.

my Mind, sometimes, gets in the groove of “think, therefore I am”
for When I’m thinking thus I prove there’s life beyond the pram
we Take some stray perceptions and we store what we perceive
and from All these lay conceptions, we then build what we believe.
…………….

old Socrates kept learning, keeping virtues up to date
and These alone were permanent, all else was second rate
and Kindness was a noble thing and courage was his mate
and Hence the students called him king, and “Socrates the great”.

ofFended by his thinking, some then closed the prison gate
and Sentenced him to drinking hemlock (or to abdicate)
he Drank the stuff unblinking , ahh the stuff of Stoic fate,
and they Now refer to Socrates as “Socrates the late”.

put your Head upon old Socrates - they’d asked the man to kneel
they’d Sentenced him half heartedly- he just had to appeal
but Principles were paramount, - he didn’t want to know
and he Kissed his wife and children, and he went where martyrs go.
……….

someTimes it’s less romantic, when raw character is cast
praps Storms in the Atlantic, maybe courage ‘fore the mast
such as Men who helped their wives to find Titanic’s lifeboat queue
and to Walk them to the railing and then bid them sweet adieu.

put your Heart into the chest of someone seeing off his wife
on that Deck with all the best of men amid Titanic strife
“and Give the kids my love, my love, and make a brand new home
and Should you see a passing dove, that’s me beyond the foam.”
…………

put your Feet into the snowboots of old Scott – or better still
of his colleague Captain Lawrence Oates, amid Antarctic chill
as he said “I may be some time” – and he went out in the sleet
tired of dragging down his comrades with his black frostbitten feet.
…………..
spend a Day with the Resistance as a hail of lead descends
as they Fought off nasty Nazis, just to help escaping friends
one such Girl was Violette Szarbo, “carve her name with pride” it’s told
and a Posthumous George Medal to her daughter four years old.
…………

there are Hundreds of descendants of the Aussie convict jails
who went Back to fight for England and for Scotland and for Wales
for the Killing fields of Europe, for “the culling of the males”
for the Empire at Gallipoli, for cross of rusty nails.

put your Head upon the shoulders of an Anzac in his trench
how his Blood went cold as ice or how his heart would give a wrench
“and its Up and over fellas, and we run the big guns down -
and your Chances of survival are a brick to London town.”

they had Photos of their loved ones that they kissed just one kiss more
they had Kissed the thing so often that their sunburnt lips were raw
then they Pocketed their sweethearts and they filed away their fears
and they Charged into the bullets with their fellow pale-faced peers.
…………….

when i Personally think “character”, I think about the bush
a young Wife perhaps with family and many ploughs to push
no Grecian statues looking on, just grief and cattle dying
no Temples, tablets, books upon, just hungry children crying.

a Husband with a broken hip, from vaulting horse’s mane
and Now she fights this leaking ship, yet prays for blessed rain
she Works by day in town five miles, then home to countless chores
then Feeds the kids with forced smiles, then cries behind her door.

so Close to giving in and all, so close to giving up
yet Like a pine so thin and tall, she’s steadfastly says ‘nup’
so Close to throwing saucepans, yet she smiles without restraint
with the Courage of a Norseman, and the kindness of a saint.
…………………..

it was Easy for old Socrates, what’s right and what was wrong
or Permanent in wisdom, or was faulty all along
his Students in assortment queued for things that can’t be bought
what was Less or more important in the quality of thought.

there was No inane Nintendo, Young and Restless, Peyton Place
there were Concepts to comprendo, several facets to each face,
there were Battles at the borders, these were argued, these were fought
but old Socrates' objective wasn’t might but rather thought.
………

i’ve Spent some long night’s drinking, many days remembered naught -
in my Own attempts at thinking (though I sadly came up short)
I observed the sunset sinking, when new pinnacles were sought
and some mental toasts a-clinking with what Socrates had taught.
 
2020hindsight said:
I guess many remember the poem "Beth Gelert" - or "Gelert" as per the following webpage:- i believe it means "faithful Gelert" in Welsh, but I might be wrong. This webpage even has a photo of Gelert ;) which is interesting because the poet died in 1834 ;) It also seems to have the option of hearing it read to you.

Wikipedia >> "William Robert Spencer (1769 - 1834), poet, educated at Harrow School and the University of Oxford. He belonged to the Whig set of Charles James Fox and Sheridan. He wrote graceful vers de société, made translations from Bürger, and is best remembered by his well-known ballad of Gelert. After a life of extravagance he died in poverty in Paris."

yet I find elsewhere that "He published several books relating to missionary work in India; on his return to England in 1849 he was appointed assistant to the bishop of Bath and Wells, and in 1860 became chancellor of St Paul's Cathedral" - So what I want to know is "who says that was a life of extravagence" lol. -maybe he liked to finish off the altar wine singlehandedly.
http://www.spokenpoetry.co.uk/gelert.htm
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I posted this poem way back , but only as a link to the website. Hence I now add the full poem. (maybe I've posted that as well, although I cant find any evidence of such if I did). Ahh but there's a positive .. At Easter you can hide your own Easter eggs !! :)
BETH GELERT (by William Robert Spencer)

The spearmen heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound, Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a lustier cheer,
"Come, Gelert, come, wert never last, Llewellyn's horn to hear.

"O where does faithful Gelert roam, The flower of all his race;
So true, so brave - a lamb at home, A lion in the chase?"
In sooth, he was a peerless hound, The gift of royal John;
But now no Gelert could be found, And all the chase rode on.

That day Llewellyn little loved, The chase of hart and hare;
And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. :)

But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound all o'er was smeared with gore; His lips, his fangs, ran blood.
Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise; Unused such looks to meet,
His favourite checked his joyful guise, And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward, in haste, Llewellyn passed, And on went Gelert too;
And still, where'er his eyes he cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.
Overturned his infant's bed he found, With blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground, With recent blood besprent.

He called his child - no voice replied - He searched with terror wild;
Blood, blood he found on every side, But nowhere found his child.
"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured," The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword, He plunged in Gelert's side.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh;
What words the parent's joy could tell To hear his infant's cry!
Concealed beneath a tumbled heap, His hurried search had missed,
All glowing from his rosy sleep, The cherub boy he kissed.

No hurt had he, nor harm, nor dread, But, the same couch beneath,
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, Tremendous still in death.
Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain! For now the truth was clear;
His gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.
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did anyone see the story of the lady and the lion tonight ;) - how they cuddled through the bars of his cage (after she rescued it from severe malnutrition etc ) - top stuff.

Here's one of Aesop's Fables..
Androcles. A slave named Androcles once escaped from his master and fled to the forest. As he was wandering about there he came upon a Lion lying down moaning and groaning. At first he turned to flee, but finding that the Lion did not pursue him, he turned back and went up to him. As he came near, the Lion put out his paw, which was all swollen and bleeding, and Androcles found that a huge thorn had got into it, and was causing all the pain. He pulled out the thorn and bound up the paw of the Lion, who was soon able to rise and lick the hand of Androcles like a dog. Then the Lion took Androcles to his cave, and every day used to bring him meat from which to live. But shortly afterwards both Androcles and the Lion were captured, and the slave was sentenced to be thrown to the Lion, after the latter had been kept without food for several days. The Emperor and all his Court came to see the spectacle, and Androcles was led out into the middle of the arena. Soon the Lion was let loose from his den, and rushed bounding and roaring towards his victim. But as soon as he came near to Androcles he recognised his friend, and fawned upon him, and licked his hands like a friendly dog. The Emperor, surprised at this, summoned Androcles to him, who told him the whole story. Whereupon the slave was pardoned and freed, and the Lion let loose to his native forest.
Gratitude is the sign of noble souls.
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couple of songs - sorry can't find the youtube - so they become poetry ;)
(
I WON'T SEND ROSES from the musical Mack and Mabel

I won't send roses, Or hold the door
I won't remember, Which dress you wore
My heart is too much in control
The lack of romance in my soul
Will turn you grey, kid , So stay away, kid

Forget my shoulder , When you're in need
Forgetting birthdays , Is guaranteed
And should I love you, you would be, The last to know
I won't send roses , And roses suit you so

My pace is frantic , My temper's cross
With words romantic, I'm at a loss
I'd be the first one to agree
That I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred, kid , So keep your head, kid

In me you'll find things , Like guts and nerve
But not the kind of things , That you deserve
And so while there's a fighting chance, Just turn and go
I won't send roses , And roses suit you so.

The following comment I found on a related website:- http://nickbrowne.coraider.com/2006/01/i-wont-send-roses.html

"With words romantic, I'm at a loss" is pretty weak. I suggest "I'm no romantic, at love a loss" would be an improvement, but generally that is a great lyric. I love the way that "and roses suit you so" subverts the implications of the earlier lines and changes them from bombast to melancholy yearning. It is the same technique that I noticed in Dylan's "Most of the Time" last year. I wonder if there is a technical term for it?
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MOST OF THE TIME by Bob Dylan

Most of the time , I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time , I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs, Stay right with it, when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon, I don't even notice she's gone,
Most of the time.

Most of the time , It's well understood,
Most of the time, I wouldn't change it if I could,
I can't make it all match up, I can hold my own,, I can deal with the situation right down to the bone,
I can survive, I can endure, And I don't even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time, My head is on straight,
Most of the time, I'm strong enough not to hate.
I don't build up illusion 'till it makes me sick, I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind. Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time , She ain't even in my mind,
I wouldn't know her if I saw her, She's that far behind.
Most of the time , I can't even be sure
If she was ever with me Or if I was with her.

Most of the time, I'm halfway content,
Most of the time I know exactly where I went,
I don't cheat on myself, I don't run and hide, Hide from the feelings, that are buried inside,
I don't compromise and I don't pretend, I don't even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.

"I love the way the first and last line undercut the sentiment the narrator is apparently expressing."
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Have I a body or have I none?
Am I who I am or am I not?
Pondering these questions,
I sit leaning against the cliff as the years go by,
Till the green grass grows between my feet
And the red dust settles on my head,
And the men of the world, thinking me dead,
Come with offerings of wine and fruit to lay by my corpse.

Han Shan, Cold Mountain
 
Three quotes from the web ( and a song from memory) - only vaguely related ;)
New Zealanders should be able to see the brightest comet in 40 years – and possibly in the past century – in the southwest evening sky for the next couple of weeks, astronomers say.

"Look towards the south western sky, low down towards the horizon soon after sunset," Carter Observatory senior astronomer Brian Carter said yesterday. "You will have no trouble in finding it over the next few days."

Known as Comet McNaught, it was only spotted for the first time last August by Australian professional astronomer Robert McNaught, when it was just a faint fuzzy blob.

Mr Carter said the comet had brightened up more than anyone expected as the icy lump orbited the sun, ice and dust coming off its surface reflecting sunlight.

"McNaught is now the brightest comet in more than 40 years. . .and it may become the brightest in centuries," Mr Carter said.

Nasa astronomer Tony Phillips told The Associated Press McNaught could turn out to be the brightest comet in recorded history: "It will remain a spectacular comet for weeks, perhaps months, in the Southern Hemisphere".

The comet made its closest approach to the sun – 25 million kilometres – over the weekend and is now moving away, which means it will be easiest to spot in the evening twilight.

Dr McNaught works at the research school of astronomy and astrophysics of the Australian National University. He is a prolific discoverer of asteroids and the comet was the 31st to carry his name.

Mr Phillips said Comet McNaught was six times brighter than Hale-Bopp in 1997 and 100 times brighter than Halley's Comet when it appeared in 1986.

"It will remain a spectacular comet for weeks, perhaps months, in the Southern Hemisphere," he said.

The comet is also visible to armchair astronomers via images posted to the Internet from the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory (SOHO) spacecraft launched in 1995 to study the sun.
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I'm reminded of Robert Goulet's song :-
we laugh we cry , we live we die
and when we're gone the world moves on
we love, we hate, we learn too late
how small we are , how little we know.

see how the time goes swiftly by
we dont know how we dont know why
we reach so high and fall so low
the more we learn the less we know

too soon the time to rest will come
to late the will to carry on
and so we leave so much undone
how small we are , how little we know.
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Donald Rumsfold (2002 Dept of Defense new briefing)
http://cosmicvariance.com/2006/11/10/toward-a-unified-epistemology-of-the-natural-sciences/
"As we know
there are "known knowns"
there are things we know we know.

We also know
there are "known unknowns"
that is to say
we know there are some things
we do not know

but there are also "unknown unknowns"
the ones we dont know
we dont know."
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You can spend a long time trying to get that one into your head ;) Probably the most sensible thing he ever said.
 
NOTES ON PAYING THE RENT

If you basejump, you tempt fortune, and you dare things to go wrong
and you dare your soul to do it, though it may be your last song,
will your chute tear accidental, is this 'bad luck' if it does
or are YOU some yearly rental, in some game of "chase the buzz"
- you were doing what you loved with mates, and that's what fortune does.

If you hangglide mountain ranges where the misty clouds recline
where the colour pattern changes with the arching sun behind
mostly wind like magic pillows - but should gusts blow false to you
are you food for weeping willows, or just rent that's overdue.
- you were doing what you loved wth mates, praps rent was overdue.

If you surf and crash and tumble with white pointer sharks beneath,
when last year one of your number lost a leg to razor teeth
guess it's just like paying rental for the freedom you enjoy
and it's cruelly sentimental, - there's a warning with the toy!
- and it's sad that rent is paid for by this sacrificial boy.

I have stood on sandy beaches and I've deep inhaled the scent,
and I've asked the god of creatures where do I pay back some rent,
rent for lighting up the landscape, rent for warming up the sand
and for phonecalls that are answered, by some friendly landlord's hand.
- but the answer adds "remember! rent is paid in ever land."

Then the voice gets sentimental "rent is small for First World days
just be thankful that your rental is one third the Third World pays
yet you help them only rarely? yet you've means and you have ways?
you could share their rent more fairly, help your brother through his maze
- help the odds of his existence, help reduce the rent he pays". :2twocents
 
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/PoetsPoetry/WarPoems/tabid/877/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1359 Here's one of the war poems there... Follows on the sentiment of Red Gum's "I was only 19" which I'm sure you all know.

OLD SOLDIER
© 1999 Tom Stonham, Nambucca Heads NSW

Dim jungle dawn, a crouching run,
hot on my hip, an Owen gun ...
Cold, clammy sweat as I was torn
from brash boyhood ... and woke, reborn.

For nineteen years I never knew
what Freedom costs but now I do ...
You know, or not, it can’t be told -
New-born at dawn and now I’m old.

The ignorance of youth was lost.
Life’s line of no-return was crossed.
Delusion’s dead, I’ve shed its husk ...
OLD SOLDIER IN THE GRIM, RED DUSK
 
A lighter poem by Banjo Patterson ... Not sure the RSPCA would go along with the last line ;) - but intended for a laugh obviously.
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/master...njo/tabid/704/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1251
A DOG'S MISTAKE
AB Banjo Paterson 1933

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear.

He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef,
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night.

'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend,
To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end,"
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse.

Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate:
'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate,
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day,
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."
 
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/PoetsPoetry/WarPoems/tabid/877/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1372 - what a poem !!!! - what an emotional experience to read this one folks.
REMEMBER THE HORSES TOO
© Kym Eitel

The men who went to war for us, and died so far away,
are honoured and remembered well, each touching Anzac Day.
Our soldiers fought with hero strength, but let us not forget -
who helped them through those horrid times of bomb and bayonet?

The Remounts Section(*1) sourced the best – Australia’s finest Walers(*2)
were led aboard a hundred steam ships – patient equine sailors.
Oblivious to war ahead, they crossed the angry waves.
Not all of them survived the trip, some sleep in ocean graves.

The Brigadier’s prancing mount, the trooper’s sturdy steed,
the half-legs (*3) pulling water carts, gave strength, endurance, speed.
Through dust storms, scorching temperatures, and shifting sand and hills
they proved that they had hearts of gold, with courage, nerve and wills.

The Waler took the trumpeter to call at Palestine.
The heavy horse pulled medic carts behind the firing line.
The gun horse (*4) hauled artillery to arm the troopers’ fight,
while sections (*5) rode reconnaissance each dark and restless night.

The horses saw the desperate times, when death was all around.
They galloped through the screaming injured, thrashing on the ground.
They were shot at, strafed by German planes, felt shrapnel each grenade.
The wounded, frightened horses fell, as Turk machine guns sprayed.

All did their job, and did it well, with little hope of rest.
The saddle taken off at night, was thanks they got at best.
A pat, and “Thanks, good on ‘ya mate,” a nosebag with some corn,
a quick lay down, a few hours sleep, then back to war at dawn.

So many stories have been told – heroic acts of horses
who double-backed the injured men and dashed through Turkish forces (*6).
And when the war was finished, all the troopers clapped and cheered,
but what about the horses, that they loved and so revered?

Their horse was friend and comrade, through the thick of war and thin.
The Aussie politicians wouldn’t let them come back in.
They said, “Because of quarantine, and massive costs involved,
you’ll have to leave your mounts behind.” The troopers’ cheers dissolved.

The war was done. The men could leave that nightmare combat zone,
but first, they had to take the lives, of those who’d saved their own!
The younger mounts were volunteered to India’s command.
Those over four, were shot and left, to perish in the sand.

The horses of the 3rd Brigade, were killed in Tripoli.
They lined them up in olive groves, then shot them. Tears ran free.
Each marksman fired, and wished the horse had died while serving war,
to lay the blame on enemy – instead his own heart tore.

The horses’ frightened screaming rose above the gunshot rattle,
and left the men with lifelong scars, of killing after battle.
A thankless way to thank each horse for service in the sand,
and fearless dedication shown to save our precious land.

One hundred and eighty thousand horses, gave their blood and lives(*7),
to help return our troopers to their children and their wives.
They gave their all, and still found more, brave gallantry to give.
They’d never see green fields again, or come back home to live.

We're grateful for the Anzacs, and their sacrifice as well.
We know the wars were brutal, and the soldiers went through Hell.
So honour fallen loved ones, and the friends we never knew,
but I ask you, every Anzac Day … remember the horses, too …


1 - The Remounts Section sourced and bought horses to send overseas. Banjo Paterson was one of these men.

2 - The Waler was not a breed of horse, but they were an Australian-bred horse, from a range of breeds or cross breeds. They were bred to be extremely hardy and of good nature. Only blacks, bays and brown horses were used. It was in 1846 that the term “Waler” was coined by the British, because Australian horses were originally sourced in New South Wales, but by the mid-1800’s, all Australian horses were referred to as Walers. The most famous feat of the Walers, was the Light Horse charge on Beersheeba in 1917, to claim the water wells.

3 - “Half-legs” were a Clydesdale-cross, bred for endurance, speed and strength.

4 - “Gun horses” were the heavy horses that pulled “18 pounders” (a gun that shot shells weighing 18 pounds). Each gun and limber, which carried ammunition, were hitched together behind a team of six horses. The horses were arranged as three pairs, and each pair had a postillian rider on the near side horse. If any of the horses was injured, the rider could cut the traces and release the horse, so the rest of the team could keep going.

5 - “Sections” were groups of four horses and riders that went on scouting rides to look out for advancing enemy at night.

6 - A particularly interesting story can be found on page 111 of the book, “From the Saddlebags at War”, by Joan Starr – “... one night, (Major Mick) Shanahan found four Australians who had lost their horses in the thick of combat. He took two on his horse, and with the other two clinging to his stirrups, he dashed safely through the Turks in the darkness.”

7 - The only horse to return to Australia was Sandy, the mount of Major General Sir William Throsby Bridges, who was the highest ranking Australian officer killed at Gallipoli. He was given a state funeral, and the horse was shipped back to Australia to take part in the funeral parade.
 
2020hindsight said:
For reference, lyrics to "Ne me quitte pas" (allegedly) translated directly in English. Much more powerful than McKuen's lyrics... ?
I'll let you folk be the judges. ...there is more passion in this version - call it wild lateral thinking looking for crazy romantic comparisons http://ilx.wh3rd.net/thread.php?msgid=3202327

Don't leave me. We must forget
all that can be forgotten, that already has passed away.
Forget the times of misunderstandings,
and the times lost trying to know how
Forget those hours which sometimes killed
in attacks of "whys" the heart of happiness.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me.

I'll cover you with pearls of rain
from countries where it never rains.
I will dig the earth until my death
to cover your body with gold and lights.
I will make a land, where love will be king,
where love will be law, and you my queen., DLM etc

DLM. I'll make up crazy words that you'll understand.
I'll tell you about the lovers who have twice seen their hearts catch fire.
I'll tell you the story of this king who died from not being able to meet you., DLM etc

We often see the fire erupt
from the ancient volcano we once thought too old
It is shown that lands that were burned
gave more wheat than the best April.
And when the evening comes with the sky blazing
-- the red and the black -- which doesn't blend., DLM etc

Don't leave me. I won't cry anymore
I won't talk anymore I will hide there.
To watch you dance and smile
and to hear you sing and then laugh.
Let me become the shadow of your shadow,
the shadow of your hand, the shadow of your dog. DLM etc
Click to expand...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJIZu37Hfr0&mode=related&search= Jacques Brel - Ne Me Quitte Pas - The author himself ;)
"Emotional performance from a true poet" as they say on youtube.
 
we proclaim the moral high ground, skip the “practice”, stick with “preach”
and the blind eyes and the lying find new quantum depths to reach
it’s a moral we’ll find history has lessons yet to teach
that the mindless politicians left omitted from their speech.

we pretend we’re best and fairest, yet we fan the embered fires
till they blaze in eyes and hearts and minds of enemy empires
we pretend we’re on the right track, that the diggers would stand by us
- but too many diggers died proclaiming "listen not to liars".

we profess to study histor-y, attack before we know
whether mass destruction weapons, whether terrorists will grow
whether multi-headed dragons, will rise up twice from each blow
that the beast we dreaded most of all, we’ve guaranteed will show.

we may claim the moral high ground, yet we climb as one who’s lame
there are acres of the mountain tops the enemy now claim
whether facts are in dispute or not, there’s one fact not denied
that the facts are brown and muddied, and the truth has long since died.
 

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