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Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori

In 'Dulce Decorum Est' grim realities has Owen told?
Images he witness bore cut into nerve retina of eyeballs?
“Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots.

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five Nines that dropped behind.”

Wilfred was a conscientious objector, who never believed
in war. Owen believed he had no right to protest against war,
if he had never fought in it. Wilfred wrote realistic anti-war

poems. “Dulce et Decorum Est” is a protest against war.
The lie “Dulce et Decorum Est pro patria mori” Owen denounces
declaring it is not sweet and honourable to die for your country.

Stark grim dark is contrast between false lie and truth reality
powerfully in an account of friend dying soldier demonstrated
Symptoms of chlorine or phosgene gas are correctly described

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Disease War Endemic To Planet Earth?

Does not brave slain blood of Wilfred
Owen cry out from battlefield ground?
Testify his faith a pacifist is God’s way
They lie who claim say a coward’s way

Wilfred Owen British army enlisted
to prove false lie upon killing score
With grim realism deep ingrained
Owen testified truth murder is war

In 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' told
how men die as cattle slaughtered
listen to these words burn in mind
grim know war is murder legalized

“What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle”

“ No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Another Plan

Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Weary of scribbling for daily bread,
Weary of writing what nobody read,
Slept one day at his desk and dreamed
That an angel before him stood and beamed
With compassionate eyes upon him there.

Editor Owen is not so fair
In feature, expression, form or limb
But glances like that are familiar to him;
And so, to arrive by the shortest route
At his visitor's will he said, simply: 'Toot.'
'Editor Owen,' the angel said,
'Scribble no more for your daily bread.
Your intellect staggers and falls and bleeds,
Weary of writing what nobody reads.
Eschew now the quill-in the coming years
Homilize man through his idle ears.
Go lecture!' 'Just what I intended to do,'

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Friar's Tale

This worthy limitour, this noble Frere,
He made always a manner louring cheer* *countenance
Upon the Sompnour; but for honesty* *courtesy
No villain word as yet to him spake he:
But at the last he said unto the Wife:
'Dame,' quoth he, 'God give you right good life,
Ye have here touched, all so may I the,* *thrive
In school matter a greate difficulty.
Ye have said muche thing right well, I say;
But, Dame, here as we ride by the way,
Us needeth not but for to speak of game,
And leave authorities, in Godde's name,
To preaching, and to school eke of clergy.
But if it like unto this company,
I will you of a Sompnour tell a game;
Pardie, ye may well knowe by the name,
That of a Sompnour may no good be said;
I pray that none of you be *evil paid;* *dissatisfied*
A Sompnour is a runner up and down
With mandements* for fornicatioun, *mandates, summonses*

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poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Dark Victory 11/11/18

The Bells ring out great Peals of joy.
The war is won, Great Albion.
It merely cost a million dead,
a generation lost and done.

To you, fate tendered victory sweet,
to the Germans, a bitter peace.
There, fatherless boys, abed, asleep,
plot revenge for their deceased.

In the Wilfred Owen house;
no alloyed joy to meld with sorrow:
That day they learned their son had died
They'll dress the house in Black tomorrow.

His mother knew before word came,
she had a sense her son was gone.
That he'd be among the last to fall
for the glory of Great Albion

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Silence of War

Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze

Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.

The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write

Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory

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poem by Steven Cooke
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A letter to a Captain

Captain Owen
Did you find your glory?
The glory you left home for
You should have stayed
Stayed safe at home

Captain Owen
I have seen your photographs
The photographs of words
The photographs of death, of war
The same war you died in

You shouldn't have gone
You should have stayed
Stayed safe at home

Captain Owen
You deserved to live
You would've lived if you never went
And yet if you never went

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poem by Mariam de Haan
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I'd come from the bottom of the barrel. Just Owen Hart getting out of the shadow of Bret Hart's little brother. Everyone figured, this is a joke, Owen's going to get squashed.

quote by Owen Hart
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100 STD's 10,000 MTD's

There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.

The latter take a lot more lives.

*********

In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria

Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.

WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)

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poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Seek No More

Seek No More
Written by: Wilfred Mellers Saturday, July 28,2012

Track seen over to the west
Trying to find a little happiness
I searched the world wide over
Couldn't find my four-leaf clover

Looked to the north and the south
Couldn't find sane way out
Nights pondering countless
Eluded me my true success

Track seen into the east
Found nectar's tasting so sweet
You don't need to ask me why
I just love my little Pad Thai

My soul resides in a new place
No more of the western rat race

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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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