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Nov. 11th, 2003 05:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ambitious_wenchToday is Veteran's Day in the US.
I spent nine years in the US Navy. To my sisters and brothers in the US Armed Forces, Thank You for taking up the job. Thank you for spending a healthy chunk of your life willing to put your life on the line for us. No amount of money is really enough.
To the good people of the US who work and pay taxes, take a moment to consider the work being done right now by the men and women of the US Armed Forces. And be sure to read this article that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
turnberryknkn shared on his Live Journal entry today:
"Nothing But Lip Service"
Then for the brave of soul, and stout of heart, and iron stomach, you may want to take a look at a poem I heard for the first time in IRC last night, courtesy of Lederhosen, and subsequently swiped from his Live Journal.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
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 gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
- Wilfred Owen, "Dulce Et Decorum Est".
I spent nine years in the US Navy. To my sisters and brothers in the US Armed Forces, Thank You for taking up the job. Thank you for spending a healthy chunk of your life willing to put your life on the line for us. No amount of money is really enough.
To the good people of the US who work and pay taxes, take a moment to consider the work being done right now by the men and women of the US Armed Forces. And be sure to read this article that
turnberryknkn shared on his Live Journal entry today: "Nothing But Lip Service"
Then for the brave of soul, and stout of heart, and iron stomach, you may want to take a look at a poem I heard for the first time in IRC last night, courtesy of Lederhosen, and subsequently swiped from his Live Journal.
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
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 gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
- Wilfred Owen, "Dulce Et Decorum Est".
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Date: 2003-11-11 02:35 pm (UTC)Thank you, A_W!
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Date: 2003-11-11 02:48 pm (UTC)Edie
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Date: 2003-11-11 07:28 pm (UTC)