Poems by Larry Tilander

Captain | Heroes | Hitler, An Afterword | My Children | Strategy, Front Line Command | Tell | The Crying | The Pilot | U-Man | War Is | War Horse | Wounds of War |

Captain


There is no personal glory, it's all for the empire
Up here they call me captain, back home they call me squire
That woman that we caught, no, not one bit obscene
I did that all for glory, for country, God, and queen
The whips and prods, antiques, I got them from a cellar
The butler's stuff, I think, a right peculiar feller
What parties, oh, begone, I'll send you on your ass
I don't have to answer, I'm upper, upper class





Heroes


We hear of fearsome battles fought out 'cross the stormy seas
The men who spilled their life's blood so we can do as we please
Of boys who paid in flesh and bones, and even gave their lives
But no one thinks of all the scars still carried by their wives
The wounds inflicted by loves lost on fields so far away
Or sons still confined to their beds and needing care each day
Disfigured husbands to this day won't let the world look
Try sitting in a theater and holding on a hook
These ladies carry on in pain that we can never know
The extra crosses that they bear and try hard not to show
As surely as their broken men who heark'ed the battle call
These wounded ones who stayed at home are real heroes all




Hitler, An Afterword


They laugh, the small ones when dreams turn to dust
They taunt, and they giggle when armour goes rust
And when you dream a mighty course then castles turn to sand
They can't remember how it was, that you were still a man
Oh, brave you gauged the highest peak, you cried, what stop, I'll never
Alas, you took the longest plunge, you'll fall, and fall, forever
While they all said, I should, I would, you stood and said, I could
Then laid a mighty course to sail, the dream felt oh so good
You built a shiny vehicle to carry out your plan
Like all machines it had to fail and there you died, a man




My Children


My children are beautiful, talented, smart
With smiles for everyone, warming the heart
My children are paintings so barely begun
They are poetry, music, with songs still unsung
My children, my babies, are ashes, they're gone
Just memories, crushed, and the horror goes on
Now father, it's said, let's forgive and forget
But my children cry, fascism isn't dead yet
Fight onwards yet stronger, fight on and be brave
My children in multitudes call from the grave
Oppression and bondage, prejudice, hate
We must strike for freedom before it's too late
My children, my brothers, take one more step, on
Together we'll rest in the garden 'fore long




Strategy, Front Line Command


You lad, corporal, here, bring that bloody map
See, just like I said, an awfull stinking gap
And look, the recon said the armour's coming here
Quick, send the twenty-third, hey you, quick, fetch a beer
Supply, I have no time, we'll worry 'bout it later
Support, they'll be all right, stock the 'fridgerator
They're understaffed you say, they're Brits, they'll do just fine
Hey, Roger, come on in, we captured some new wine
Wiped right out you say, entire twenty-third
We have to stop that gap, Billy, what's the word
Your son, the twenty-third, well, er, that could be bad
But if he gets back safe we'll decorate the lad




Tell



The captain nods, the lever turns, a scream cuts through the night
Slap-slap, slap-slap, again the pain, her eyes stare without sight
Cold water, swine, why don't you talk, we may have to get rough
Her mind is distant, calm, serene, her body screams, enough

The last few days have been a blur, has it been four, or ten
The pain, the heat, no food, the filth, and all those awfull men
The secret, hers, she'll never tell, it would mean such a loss
So dazed, oh God, that horrid sign reminds her of a cross

A rotten scent assails her nose, a cigarette is pressed
Pushed slowly into the white flesh of her so perfect breast
One thing to do, she bites down hard, a bitter taste, she cries
She smiles and spits out screw the Huns, then gently slumps, and dies




The Crying


How long can you cry, on and on, on and on
Each night on my pillow, every morning 'til dawn
Your screaming, so senseless, 'twas quick, without pain
But your crying, your crying is etched on my brain
Just a farm boy that listened to cattle's soft low
Then a cry from my country, we need you Hans, go
Then the training, the orders, Lieutenant's harsh yell
With the orders, the orders, the blood and the Hell
The crying, the orders, the blood, and the pain
Every night when I'm sleeping I see it again
And I died at the orders, I would have cried, "Friend"
Now the cattle are lowing, with this gun it will end
Oh, I pray it will end, I will no longer dwell
In my dreams as I burn, for you've damned me to Hell
Will you cry in my grave, will the mad man be there
Will I kill you once more, live it out again there




The Pilot


This is the life man, really flying
Don't mind the war, it's the other guy dying
Feet on the pedals, hand on the stick
Zooming through nothing so gracefull and quick
And the bombs, oh they're nothing, just work for the pleasure
So peacefull in cloudland, a life full of leisure
And flak, just a game like the pot holes back home
All the Huns are like troopers, speed traps over Rome
Yes, this is the life cutting trails through the sky
And you talk about death, when I land's when I die




U-Man


U-boats, me boats, everybody boats boats
Sinking everything that swims and float, floats
Smells like farts and dirty rot socks
Now we get to dip our very hot cocks
Scrape six weeks of dirty smeared beard
Whisky, wine, and getting beer wierd
U-boats, their boats, sinking to the bottom
Load another tube man, fire, we got 'em
Wick dips, dip shits, looking for a quote note
Send the buggers for a mission in a U-boat
Drunk chicks, stiff dicks, let me blow my pay, aye
Drag me to the boat pen, throw me down a hatchway




War Is


I said good-bye to my mom and dad, and I said fare well to Jane
I said so long to a way of life and climbed onto that plane
The sargent barked, the engines roared, I felt my eyes grow dim
I pulled my flask out of my bag and offered it to Tim

They say war is a lonely game, they say that war is Hell
They say that soldiers do not feel, I guess that's just as well
That they don't know this feeling like a hand inside a glove
For country, unit, friends in arms, war is just mostly love




War Horse


Nobody knows where he came from, or where he went at night
We kids would never talk to him, they said he wasn't right
He sat there still as death down by the statues in the park
He came each morning just at dawn, and lingered on 'til dark

You'd hear him mumbling sometimes about a bloody trench
And if you made a real loud bang he'd hide beneath the bench
In beat up uniform he sat, a bottle full of rye
When they took down the school flag he'd often start to cry

On poppy day he'd march around, all dressed up clean and neat
With new life in his washed out eyes and new boots on his feet
One day old War Horse came no more, the headline story read
Our greatest hero of two wars, our finest general dead




Wounds of War


The heros stagger down the street, scuff, scuffle in the dirt
Their colours flying proud above they cry for ancient hurt
They took a hill in half forgot, half nightmare never land
And whimpered as their blood ran out in half remembered sand

The rendings of their bodies are a sometimes savoured pain
But worse than gas and trench foot was the rotting in the brain
There in the shell shocked countryside did bitter thought waves roam
As half numbed minds turned helplessly to strangled thoughts of home