Tag: Poetry

Posted on

Lay Your Weary Head – Revisited

Originally Posted 2013

Originally created to remind one and all of the 11th day of the 11th Month 2012, the poem was written in a matter of moments and is from the heart – I put no real thought in to it whatsoever. Fast forward to April 2013 and I find myself revisiting ‘Lay Your Weary Head (Old Soldier)’ not to glam it up but to add, modify, enhance what was simply a poem to those that fought on all fronts in all wars. For the poem and a transcript of the narrative, read on.

Narrative: We never asked if we could go, oh no we said we was going and that’s that. I was only 15 but a little changing of dates on the form made me old enough. Alf if memory serves was 15 as well but this was war and they needed all the able-bodied so we was in.
Besides this was adventure, excitement, although the next few years made those dreams of adventure and excitement disappear in to the muddied fields we crawled across, mortars poundin’ the sodden earth, bullets whizzing over are ‘eads, taking great chunks o dreams with ’em.
Many times I said to Alf, ‘what happened to the adventure?’ but he never answered, he couldn’t, he’d been killed 4 days after we landed, dozens had met the same fate — buried in makeshift graves, a few quiet words and we was off again — I wondered if they’d be remembered or would I be if I bought it for that matter.
©Copyright Carl Bratcher 05/04/13 All Rights Reserved.
Lay Your Weary Head (Old Soldier)
Through mud they trudged
As deep as their knees
Thoughts lingered on of families
Many had gone but many stayed In unmarked graves
Were where they laid
From friends a silent prayer was said
Then over the top they went ahead
Bullets cut them down en masse
Some they say should have been in class
Learning English, ‘rithmetic and fun
But battle on, they did as one
Now lay your weary head old soldier
Your battles fought your war is over
No need to remember what you’ve done
Your memories live on in everyone
Lest we forget
© Copyright Carl Bratcher 11/11/11

Posted on

11/11 Lay Your Weary Head

Originally Posted 2012

This was penned this 11/11 and where it came from I’ve no idea, I’m not a poet (as can clearly be seen) more a fiction writer, perhaps distant thoughts of family who’d served and of course the countless others. It was suggested that perhaps it would be good as a video, so me and my trusty Korg T2EX did the music, the images are public domain (available on Youtube).

Lay Your Weary Head.
Through mud they trudged
As deep as their knees
Thoughts lingered on of families
Many had gone but many stayed
In unmarked graves were where they laid
From friends a silent prayer was said
Then over the top they went ahead
Bullets cut them down en masse
Some they say should have been in class
Learning English, ‘rithmetic and fun
But battle on, they did as one
Now lay your weary head old soldier
Your battles fought your war is over
No need to remember what you’ve done
Your memories live on in everyone
Lest We Forget
©Copyright Carl Bratcher 11/11/11

Posted on

Ne’er again

Originally Posted 30/5/07
Ne’er again shall I bow down before
An Englishman, his wife, his son or his whore
I’ll stand proud ‘neath a flag With a black and gold cross
A dragon of red inked deep in my chest My blood its colour, my heart were it rests
Invaders from a land – a land not so far
Murdered our prince, stole our faire
Did we give it so freely – give it open hand
Did we cow down to the bastard son, our free land
Murderers the call, tricksters one and all
Today, now is the time that I call
For all Welshmen to stand up, stand tall
This land so fair so full of dreams and free
Now is the time for both you and for me To drive the English back on their schemes
Back to their lands away from our dreams
We are a nation old and proud A nation of poets and bards – speak aloud
Tell the oppressors their time is nigh Wales will govern itself and rise upon high
We shall stand once again, proud, free and strong When the English and its government Its phoney Prince and land holders – gone

Posted on

I Was Never One For Poetry

Originally Posted 14/5/07
Which is a teeny fib seein’ as I’ve had a poem published, but I also know I ‘likes what I likes!!’
We were a people taut for war; the hills Were no harder, the thin grass Clothed them more warmly than the coarse Shirts our small bones.
We fought, and were always in retreat, Like snow thawing upon the slopes Of Mynydd Mawr; and yet the stranger
Never found our ultimate stand In the thick woods, declaiming verse To the sharp prompting of the harp.
Our kings died, or they were slain By the old treachery at the ford.
Our bards perished, driven from the halls Of nobles by the thorn and bramble.
We were a people bred on legends, Warming our hands at the red past.
The great were ashamed of our loose rags Clinging stubbornly to the proud tree Of blood and birth, our lean bellies And mud houses were a proof Of our ineptitude for life.
We were a people wasting ourselves In fruitless battles for our masters, In lands to which we had no claim,
With men for whom we felt no hatred. We were a people, and are so yet.
When we have finished quarrelling for crumbs
Under the table, or gnawing the bones Of a dead culture, we will arise
And greet each other in a new dawn Armed, but not in the old way.
R. S. Thomas (1913 – 2000)
Now hang in there while I sod around with this, it’s the first thing I’ve written in I dunno how long -maybe my muse is raising her head again