Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share When Reveille Sounds
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
When Reveille Sounds
The poem for today is a sestina written for Armistice Day several years ago. I am sharing it today in honor of the unveiling and first lighting of the World War I Memorial “A Soldier’s Journey” in Washington, D.C.’s Pershing Park which you may watch online HERE.
Red for poppies which in fields bloom
Midst the death and blood of bodies strewn;
Brown for the dirt, the trenches which flood
And fill with muck and mud and blood;
Black descends on me in death
Light fades, night falls with fleeting breath.
The earth exhales a gasping breath
As red from wounds like flowers bloom
In Flanders where life bleeds to death;
Men as seeds broadcast and strewn
Who dying cry for Mum and blood—
A swelling call as tide to flood.
The autumn rain fills fields to flood
The trenches with muck, choke the breath,
Of living land now browned with blood—
Once waved with wheat, flowered in bloom,
Now torn and ripped with metal strewn—
A splintered world of rusting death.
Assigned, resigned to our own death
O’er the top pour, a fodder in flood
‘Cross no man's land with craters strewn,
Shells scream, feet pound with desperate breath,
A hope forlorn in national bloom
Necessity’s gift: life and blood.
This band of brothers bound in blood,
Blacked by powder, smeared with death,
Shelter 'neath shells which burst and bloom,
The crack and fire, the roaring flood,
Explosion's smell, sulfuric breath,
Hope littered, wasted, cast off, strewn.
In whitened rows no longer strewn
Poppies sprinkle the field as blood
Which waves and swells, blown by breath;
In Ypres’, now green, valley of death
No brown-clad men gather in flood
To Flanders’ fields where tombstones bloom.
One day these fields shall wind Life’s Breath,
Men from trenches rise in bloom,
When Reveille sounds Death’s death.
© Randall Edwards 2022
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit backwardmutters.substack.com
Photo Credit: Wernervc, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
Canada. Dept. of National Defence/Library and Archives Canada/, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“Over There” by George M. Cohan. Recorded by Thomas A. Edison, Inc. Public Domain
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit backwardmutters.substack.com
View all episodes
By Randall EdwardsThe poem for today is a sestina written for Armistice Day several years ago. I am sharing it today in honor of the unveiling and first lighting of the World War I Memorial “A Soldier’s Journey” in Washington, D.C.’s Pershing Park which you may watch online HERE.
Red for poppies which in fields bloom
Midst the death and blood of bodies strewn;
Brown for the dirt, the trenches which flood
And fill with muck and mud and blood;
Black descends on me in death
Light fades, night falls with fleeting breath.
The earth exhales a gasping breath
As red from wounds like flowers bloom
In Flanders where life bleeds to death;
Men as seeds broadcast and strewn
Who dying cry for Mum and blood—
A swelling call as tide to flood.
The autumn rain fills fields to flood
The trenches with muck, choke the breath,
Of living land now browned with blood—
Once waved with wheat, flowered in bloom,
Now torn and ripped with metal strewn—
A splintered world of rusting death.
Assigned, resigned to our own death
O’er the top pour, a fodder in flood
‘Cross no man's land with craters strewn,
Shells scream, feet pound with desperate breath,
A hope forlorn in national bloom
Necessity’s gift: life and blood.
This band of brothers bound in blood,
Blacked by powder, smeared with death,
Shelter 'neath shells which burst and bloom,
The crack and fire, the roaring flood,
Explosion's smell, sulfuric breath,
Hope littered, wasted, cast off, strewn.
In whitened rows no longer strewn
Poppies sprinkle the field as blood
Which waves and swells, blown by breath;
In Ypres’, now green, valley of death
No brown-clad men gather in flood
To Flanders’ fields where tombstones bloom.
One day these fields shall wind Life’s Breath,
Men from trenches rise in bloom,
When Reveille sounds Death’s death.
© Randall Edwards 2022
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit backwardmutters.substack.com
Photo Credit: Wernervc, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
Canada. Dept. of National Defence/Library and Archives Canada/, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“Over There” by George M. Cohan. Recorded by Thomas A. Edison, Inc. Public Domain
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit backwardmutters.substack.com