My Noble General

[James.H.Oldfield]

My dearest boys, come march with me,
to glory like you've never seen.
We'll etch our names in history
and choirs will sing of where we've been.

You lined us up like plastic men,
out-numbered almost three to one,
you bade us charge their ranks and then
watched all your dreams of fame undone.

My dearest boys, a soldier's death,
and glory like you've never seen!
So do not mourn your final breath,
for choirs will sing of where we've been.

We woke in death, still side by side,
a unit even past the end,
and there you were, still drunk on pride,
surveying what you couldn't mend.

My dearest boys, the angels come,
from glory like you've never seen.
Such honour only falls to some;
their choirs are singing where we've been!

Another army stalked our ranks,
their judgments falling all the while;
I found no voice to offer thanks,
but humbly I returned a smile.

My dearest boys, let me come too,
to glory, like I've never seen,
I'm begging, let me fly with you,
To choirs who'll sing of where I've been.

Now I have found a greater Lord
since death released me from your spell,
and here, at last, is my reward:
to hear you sing, alone, in Hell.

My dearest boys... My dearest boys...

[David Nelson Bradsher]

James, I love your war pieces, and this is no exception. It lends itself well to the tetrameter meter (or metre, since this is your piece:)).

No nits to speak of, just appreciation for the complexity in the simplicity.

I picture WWI, right before a regiment is about to charge from the trenches towards a fusillade of lead.

[James.H.Oldfield]

Well thank you David, and I knew you'd spot my precise influences instantly (I'm originally from a city which lost 20,000 men and boys in a single hour at the Somme).

I have to admit, in a somewhat perverse way I enjoy writing war poems, perhaps even more so than my epics. Tragically,. there's just so much scope for influence. Perhaps this in itself warrants poetic investigation, I'll have to give that some thought...

Take care -James

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

I seem to lose the pace of this poem at this point:

Another army stalked our ranks,
their judgments falling all the while;
I found no voice to offer thanks,
but humbly I returned a smile.

My dearest boys, let me come too,
to glory, like I've never seen,
I'm begging, let me fly with you,
To choirs who'll sing of where I've been.

Now I have found a greater Lord
since death released me from your spell,
and here, at last, is my reward:
to hear you sing, alone, in Hell.

not sure why, just a gut instinct.

I really like it up until there.