The Syrian Hill

Tags

2nd AIF, 7th Division 2nd AIF, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Hill 1054 Syria, poem, poetry, Syria, The Levant, Vichy French, Vichy French in Syria

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥

In the cruel Levant lies the Syrian hill,
And the men who hold it have strength and will.
And two of the men who would take the height,
Mere boys when they landed, now men who’ll fight
The French and their vassals, the Senegalese.
From the distant south — the Antipodes,
They are seen once more in an ancient land
Where the blood of their fathers, it stains the sand.
And soon will theirs flow on this rocky mound;
But now do they dig in the blasted ground.
And the shells fly near and the air it groans
As they shake the hill and the buried bones
Of the countless soldiers who here have died
For a sultan’s dream or a far king’s pride.
Now their bayonets fixed for the last mad rush
That will seal their fate or their dark foes crush.
One looks to his right and his mate looks back,
As the air explodes — then a shout:”Attack!”
One looks to his right and his mate lies there,
And glazed are his eyes and there’s blood in his hair.
But the charge is on and the scene’s a blur.
There are shouts and shells and the bullets whir.
At the Senegalese do their officers scream,
But it is the end of a mad French dream,
As the Frenchmen flee and the French flag falls.
And the Vichy French from their towering walls,
Now their last hope gone, fly surrender’s flag.
And upon the hill with a Frenchman’s rag,
With the tricolour is a bandage made
For a soldier wounded — his mate is laid
With the others who on that day had paid
With their bright young lives for a barren mound.
Now I think of them when I hear the sound
Of a bugle blown — of the boys who fell;
Of the wounded soldier I knew so well.

— D.N. O’Brien

{𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 2/25𝘵𝘩 𝘉𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯 7𝘵𝘩 𝘋𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 2𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘐𝘍 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘏𝘪𝘭𝘭 1054, 𝘚𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘢 8𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘶𝘭𝘺 1941 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘕𝘰𝘦𝘭 𝘖’𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯 — 𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘺 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 12𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘶𝘭𝘺}

An Axe Attack

Tags

australian formal poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bashar Assad, ISIS, Islamic State, islamic Terrorism, jihad, poem, poetry, Spenserian sonnet, Syria, Syrian attack, Tomahawk missile attack

Assad it seems has been cut down to size;
With tomahawks they’ve given him the chop.
And only time will tell if this was wise
And whether further limbs they’ll have to lop.
(Once pruning starts it can be hard to stop)
Will weakening Assad pay dividends? –
America’s now playing the world’s cop –
But backing crazies? – Oops! I mean our friends!
Well was this justified? Well it depends:
The Russians say the rebels were the cause,
But Trump’s attack the White House now defends.
Miscalculations sometimes lead to wars;
It’s best to know the truth before one acts –
Let’s hope Trump’s in possession of the facts.

Here Comes Trouble

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Middle East, poem, poetry, Syria

They arrive on a ship, plane or bus
With their baggage of ignorance, thus
There’s no need now to travel
To parts that unravel –
The Middle East’s coming to us.

Piso and Plancina

Tags

Agrippina, Ancient Rome, Emperor Tiberius, Germanicus, Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso, Martina, Munatia Plancina, poem, poetry, Syria, Tiberius

Germanicus, pride of the Roman Empire,
Was brought down by Piso, a treacherous liar,
Who schemed with his missus, Munatia Plancina,
To kill him with poison. Accomplice Martina,
The poisoner, slyly she used belladonna.
Germanicus, very soon, he was a goner.
(Martina would later be found stiff and cold,
For she knew too much and so wouldn’t grow old)
In Syria, (that’s where the crime was committed)
Germanicus had against Piso been pitted,
And Piso, egged on by the evil Plancina,
Who hated Germanicus and Agrippina
His wife, knew Germanicus just had to go,
And so was the great Roman General laid low.
With unseemly haste there were huge celebrations
As Piso, Plancina, their friends and relations,
They sacrificed, partied, sent thanks to the gods.
(They really were quite reprehensible sods)
Tiberius, Piso considered inferior
To his noble family, and also that Syria
Was his now to govern, (he had been in charge there)
So sought to invade it, his power to enlarge there.
Tiberius, (some say he had been conspiring
With Piso) in Rome, now of Piso was tiring,
For though overjoyed, (with Germanicus dead)
He heard the crowd calling: “Give us Piso’s head!”
And so came to Piso a message from home:
“Piso and Plancina – you’re wanted in Rome.”
And there, by The Senate, Piso and Plancina
Were tried. Soon on suicide Piso grew keener
For he knew Tiberius wanted him dead;
A sword sliced his throat, and to death, Piso bled.
His wife was acquitted. (Said Livia: “Save her!”)
Tiberius Caesar, he never forgave her –
When Livia died, had Plancina retried.
She opened her veins – thus the last killer died.
Or was there another? A tale most mysterious
Of Piso, Plancina, Martina…… Tiberius?

Spreading the Love

Tags

Islamic State, jihad, limerick, poem, poetry, Syria

The Jihadists, are Syria – shredding,
And the neighbours, these maniacs dreading.
They’ve a quota to fill.
Infidels they must kill.
So it’s clear where these guys will be heading.

Syrius

Tags

al-Assad, limerick, poem, poetry, Syria

The Syrian boss al-Assad,
As usual is somewhat bad,
But time and again
Arabs bow to strong men,
And the rebels, well they’re clearly mad.

So why does the West give them aid?
They’ll rule by the gun and the blade.
These Islamic nutters
Crawled out of the gutters,
To freedoms, so few, they’ll put paid.