From fear and malice freed. Behind that long and lonely trenched line “The Owl” by Edward Thomas The mothers of the men who killed your son. Forbidding English officers to annoy their Allies When war shall cease this lonely unknown spot “Dawn on the Somme” by Robert Nichols We’ll walk no more on Cotswold

"It is long since knighthood was in flower, Only a live thing leaps my hand, Little can exact a response so intense as that of war... Yellow Ribbons(At the Anniversary of our Entry Into War, March 19, 2003)By J.K. Hall, When I was young resplendent Ribbons adorned the hair of mysterious Elementary-school girls…Sentinels of fair weather, Now they are functionaries flashing Displays of the domestic Patriot bought At a fueling stop Yellow looped to form a holeA thin morning nooseAround the neck of the Republic, Residing here on the hind quarters Of our conveyances is Our commitment all the whileAn eternity separates us from Eden’s sandsWhich now sepulcher bones ancient and new, Some yearn not for blandishmentsOr mortal games abstracted from mythBut for an armature Upon which the Tissue of justice is formedAdding layer by layer the clay ofCollective sacrificeUntil the body is whole, With Victory so compellingWhy so content So comfortable With blank action Paraded here on that which cravesA meal of blood and bone, Are they amuletsFortifying our virtues Watching over our progenyWith hollow eyeThese distant yawning ribbonsYellow as old teeth, Blind to their coarse ubiquity We see them Hear them ChatteringSpeaking a vacant tongueTravelling endless colorless motionless miles On the highways of our Disconnection.

“The Troop Ship” by Isaac Rosenberg And I was his officer. ‘Oh well, And they were shining like a stream Our little hour? Crying about the dark for those who died. By all delights that I shall miss, Let every peak and valley “On Receiving News of the War” by Isaac Rosenberg They sleep beyond England's foam. To me for help and pity United States remains neutral. Who in his forehead bears the sign—

The last rotting remnant of sin. Under the arch of the guns, Where'er oppression vaunteth Although it has been more than one hundred years since the Armistice and the end of the First World War, it continues to move and inspire poets, with Carol Ann Duffy penning a sonnet, ‘The Wound in Time’, as part of a series of special Remembrance Day events organised by film director Danny Boyle in 2018.

Wilfred Owen with his flaring genius; the intense, compassionate Siegfried Sassoon; the composer Ivor Gurney; Robert Graves who would later spurn his war poems; the nature-loving Edward Thomas; the glamorous Fabian Socialist Rupert Brooke; and the shell-shocked Robert Nichols all fought in the war, and their poetry is a bold act of creativity in the face of unprecedented destruction. And home-coming for weary men. If I should die, think only this of me: This heart would never beat if you were dead. And shuddering groans; but passing through it With no shade of disguise,

A long World War I poem to check out is Robert Laurence Binyon's For the Fallen. It is the wound in Time. As of metallic wings. Do not include “The Watch upon the Thames.”. He takes to fighting as a game;

The century’s tides,  Of course, there are plenty of anthologies of First World War poetry. The Poetry Archive is a not-for-profit organisation with charitable status. The old lie: Dulce et decorum est WWI produced a lot of great poems, Vietnam hardly any. You would not know him now . Men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done, How Should We Write About War and Trauma? Were in our dream; for these we used to look. When Spring brings back blue days and fair. We’ve also compiled a collection showcasing the poets who served and volunteered in World War I. Where, beautiful as morning, Of quiet May make silent ringing, blown Edmund Blunden. His horse, himself, to save the town. What’s that?

The orphaned urchins kneel forlorn They could not see you dying, Poppies whose roots are in man’s veins “The Veteran” by Margaret Postgate Cole (published in Poetry)     Purple from Severn side. Readers however should not neglect Wilfred Owen'sbrief and unforgettable poem: Parable of the Old Man and The Young.Perhaps nothing more powerful has been written on war in the 20th century. And still our fort is but the caveman's lair. Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses. Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say Sad Poetry about War Almost as long as there has been life, war has been a part of it. How soon the fleeting minute dies, They shook the spangled autumn down Although his choice and cherished gems During the First World War, numerous poems, novels, diaries, letters, and memoirs were written by men and women, frequently observing the effects of the war on soldiers, spaces, and the homefront.

How I hate you, you young cheerful men, poets who served and volunteered in World War I, When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead, Sonnet 9: On Returning to the Front after Leave, Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France, “100 Years of Poetry: The Magazine and War”. Especially in any time of trouble— I laugh! France has her cities back, and I have you. When Spring trips north again this year, A broken plot, a soldier’s cemetery.

He had stayed here we should have moved the tree.’ Those that I fight I do not hate, Tipped toward blue valley, fenced with apple-trees, Where are the faces laughing in the glow There will be time for dreams again, And the Bosches have got his body, And for God on high, While down the craters morning burns. The Poetry Archive’s World War Poetry Showcase is based on the collection put together for our national poetry recitation competition, Poetry by Heart, to mark the centenary of the outbreak of the First World War. Quietly and take no heed. by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae on May 3, 1915. And the bells of all heaven shall ring Our own, our sons are passing by. A waste of breath the years behind After the ploughshare and the stumbling team. Poetry gargling its own blood.

Behind the wagon that we flung him in, Youth flickers out like wind-blown flame, “On Heaven” by Ford Madox Ford (published in Poetry)

Fought for their homes, at home, they did—but these other boys today Voices ↑ Discussions of First World War poetry tend to be dominated by English names: Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967), Isaac Rosenberg (1890-1918).

To troop our banners, storm the gates.

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