ANZAC Day 2007

I'm posting two poems together today, they both are for
ANZAC Day and while quite different both suit the day well.

In Flanders Fields.

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

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.

Diggers Lament.

Check out some of the links in this poem, you'll understand
Aussies better if you do.

It was with great sadness, that we saw
a dusty old digger, turned from the door
for a century he and his mates had drunk
and laughed and cried, and lived through war

But now it seems, he is not the right class
No suit, no tie, no belt of brass
To him it was all a tragic mystery
Who were these Australians, who had forgotten their own history?

Somewhat in shock, we skulled our beers
and rushed to join, our aging peer
hey cobber, we yelled, knowing his tounge
he turned and stared, eyeing us one by one

We built this bloody country, said he
with our bloody hands
we spilt our blood, we gave our youth
and this is the thanks we have

In our day the pub was for one and all
a place for laugh and cheer
at the very least, an honest bloke
could find an honest beer

Now no one wants to know us
they throw us on the street
sometimes I wonder why we bothered
getting butchered, like raw meat

the fair dinkums we were known as
as we fought the war of hate
but most of all, we aussie blokes
fought for one another - as good mates

Now I look around at Sydney
Well, it just ain't the same
the crowds - they aren't my people
what they are is just a shame

they shove, they push, they toot their horns
they speak american if you're lucky
the dinkum aussies, my cobbers and I
we're disappearing in a hurry

there's no shouting, mateship or blokeyness
and 'bloody oath' is considered crude
they think they are all winners
I just think they're bloody rude

they carry on, throughout their lives
chasing the almighty zac
but they know no joy, they have no mates
they'll die alone - for moneys sake

and what's worse, he sighed, is not here and now
but where we're going to be
and I ask myself, as I slowly die
what happened to my country.

David Downie, 2000