My grandfathers landed on ''' W'', beech Gallpoli this morning. 25/04/1915
The landings at Gallpoli , was to be the blue prints for Normandy. APRIL
Thinking of his wife and daughter Mary ,
Who was just 7 ,
He wondered if he'd ever see them again ,
A regular , and old sweet saw , Jo , in deep thought ,
Thee , thinking of home , your lass , Pal? ,
''Aye , that I am '' ,
'' First time ? ''
''Aye ''
Thee ,take my advice , lad'' ,'' don't'' ,
'' Don't think about what was , keep in mind what is ''
''Thee , think of them , then your not get thorough'' ,
''Then maybe you savive , what is ter come '' ,
''Check your gear , check your rifle is loaded '' ,
'' Don't , be in a hurry too get in too the boat ''
'' Safer at the back end I'm thinking '' ,
'' Them Turks goner be ready fer us '', '' ready and a waiting '' ,
'' machine guns , rifles , the fooking works '' ,
Jo , listened , Jo was no fool , he know the old solider know his stuff , right
enough,
So Jo did as he was told , the pack on his back heavy 56 pound of it ,
The webbing already cutting in to his shoulders , '' next time'' ,'I'll grease 'em'',
Jo made a mental note ,
Jo and the old sweet shock hands , wished each other luck ,
''Goner be a case of if your lucks in right enough '', the old sweet said ,
''Aye'' , was all , Jo said in return ,
The Lancashire lads packet in like sardines , in a tin can ,
Jo sat in the boat , he was so thirsty , his throat so dry , as dry as sand paper ,
He could not reach his water bottle , pend in by the lads either side of him ,
All was quit , only the sound of the waves lapin against the boat , the matloes ,
Rowing the boats towards the sure , seagulls flying above them ,
The the boats were with in site of the beech , '' right you are you lucky lads '' ,
''out you get '' ,
An officer , takes over from the sailor '' , '' out and at them '' ,
Jo , pushed the dead and wounded , who were blocking him , in ,
Soon the silence is broken , rat a tatt tatt , of machine guns firing ,
Men were dyeing already in the boat , Jo , pushed , shoved those blocking him in , over the side , Jo , instinctively know it was the thing too do , to reach THAT BEECH ,
The cracks of rifle fie , screams of men hit , falling face down , blood changing ,
The blue of the sea , red , blood red , lads falling in front , either side , and behind , no dowt , Jo , plunged on , he know he had to make THAT BEECH , if he
Was goner live this day , bullets peppered , the sea all around him ,
Men some dead , others wounded , there heavy packs dragging them down , too drown ,
Barbwire , was every wear , dead and wounded hung from the wire ,
Jo , had little choice , he jumped on the body's the dyeing and the dead ,
He had too reach that beech , if he were too live , and not hang shot to bits ,
on the wire ,
He made it to the beech , many did not ,
He took his rifle of his shoulder , aimed it at the cliff , but it wouldn't fire ,
It was clogged up with sand , ''fook it '' , said , Jo in oath ,
Jo , saw a Turk taking aim at him , Jo , felt his bowls and bladder let go ,
Then the , Turk , stagger , and drop his rifle , then he too dropped ,
Out of the corner of his eye he sported the old sweet , rifle in his hand ,
''I TOLD YOU GET OFF THE FOOKING BEECH , YOU FOOKING FOOL! GET!''
Jo , needed no be told again , up and on he ran , till he rec'd relative safety ,
Of the cliff bottom ,
His throat was so dry , he took out his water bottle , took a swig ,
He was never to see the old sweet again , who'd saved his life that morning .
Ken D Williams
The Dyslexic Poet
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 774 times
Written on 2011-04-25 at 12:45
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The landings at Gallpoli , was to be the blue prints for Normandy. APRIL
BAPTISM OF FIRE APRIL 25 1915
Jo , stood on board H M S Implacable ,Thinking of his wife and daughter Mary ,
Who was just 7 ,
He wondered if he'd ever see them again ,
A regular , and old sweet saw , Jo , in deep thought ,
Thee , thinking of home , your lass , Pal? ,
''Aye , that I am '' ,
'' First time ? ''
''Aye ''
Thee ,take my advice , lad'' ,'' don't'' ,
'' Don't think about what was , keep in mind what is ''
''Thee , think of them , then your not get thorough'' ,
''Then maybe you savive , what is ter come '' ,
''Check your gear , check your rifle is loaded '' ,
'' Don't , be in a hurry too get in too the boat ''
'' Safer at the back end I'm thinking '' ,
'' Them Turks goner be ready fer us '', '' ready and a waiting '' ,
'' machine guns , rifles , the fooking works '' ,
Jo , listened , Jo was no fool , he know the old solider know his stuff , right
enough,
So Jo did as he was told , the pack on his back heavy 56 pound of it ,
The webbing already cutting in to his shoulders , '' next time'' ,'I'll grease 'em'',
Jo made a mental note ,
Jo and the old sweet shock hands , wished each other luck ,
''Goner be a case of if your lucks in right enough '', the old sweet said ,
''Aye'' , was all , Jo said in return ,
The Lancashire lads packet in like sardines , in a tin can ,
Jo sat in the boat , he was so thirsty , his throat so dry , as dry as sand paper ,
He could not reach his water bottle , pend in by the lads either side of him ,
All was quit , only the sound of the waves lapin against the boat , the matloes ,
Rowing the boats towards the sure , seagulls flying above them ,
The the boats were with in site of the beech , '' right you are you lucky lads '' ,
''out you get '' ,
An officer , takes over from the sailor '' , '' out and at them '' ,
Jo , pushed the dead and wounded , who were blocking him , in ,
Soon the silence is broken , rat a tatt tatt , of machine guns firing ,
Men were dyeing already in the boat , Jo , pushed , shoved those blocking him in , over the side , Jo , instinctively know it was the thing too do , to reach THAT BEECH ,
The cracks of rifle fie , screams of men hit , falling face down , blood changing ,
The blue of the sea , red , blood red , lads falling in front , either side , and behind , no dowt , Jo , plunged on , he know he had to make THAT BEECH , if he
Was goner live this day , bullets peppered , the sea all around him ,
Men some dead , others wounded , there heavy packs dragging them down , too drown ,
Barbwire , was every wear , dead and wounded hung from the wire ,
Jo , had little choice , he jumped on the body's the dyeing and the dead ,
He had too reach that beech , if he were too live , and not hang shot to bits ,
on the wire ,
He made it to the beech , many did not ,
He took his rifle of his shoulder , aimed it at the cliff , but it wouldn't fire ,
It was clogged up with sand , ''fook it '' , said , Jo in oath ,
Jo , saw a Turk taking aim at him , Jo , felt his bowls and bladder let go ,
Then the , Turk , stagger , and drop his rifle , then he too dropped ,
Out of the corner of his eye he sported the old sweet , rifle in his hand ,
''I TOLD YOU GET OFF THE FOOKING BEECH , YOU FOOKING FOOL! GET!''
Jo , needed no be told again , up and on he ran , till he rec'd relative safety ,
Of the cliff bottom ,
His throat was so dry , he took out his water bottle , took a swig ,
He was never to see the old sweet again , who'd saved his life that morning .
Ken D Williams
The Dyslexic Poet
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 774 times
Written on 2011-04-25 at 12:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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