Lies of War.

     For centuries we have lived in a war ravished world, a world where states preach war as noble, and dying for such noble events is a sacrifice that enhances the human spirit. Though the truth is well known to those who have been there and fought the battles, and the millions of civilians that have perished needlessly in savage brutality, the state still persists in this lie, this illusion, that to die for your country is a noble and honourable sacrifice. Patriotism is usually the banner under which war is given the stamp of legitimacy

      Against the lies and deceptions of the state to sanitise and ennoble war there have been an army of poets, and others, who told the truth and said it like it is, state murder, pointless savagery and bloodshed in the name of the wealthy, powerful and privileged.

        Among them my favourite probably is Siegfried Sassoon, however, this poem that captures the horror of war in one incident of the first world war by Wilfred Owen, probably stands out as a most graphic description of the horrors of the first world war. Sadly these horrors have grown in savagery as wars have moved with the technological advances in killing techniques.

DOLCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double. like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-keed, coughing like hags, we cursed through the sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our back

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! - An ecstacy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,

And flound'ring like a manin 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 we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, 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 deserate glory,

The old lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori. 

        "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" meaning: "Sweet and beautiful is to die for the fatherland" from a verse of an ode by Horatio.

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Fight To The Finish.

       Remembrance Day, when the pomp of imperialism walks the streets in all its glittering finery, when the heads of state, the purveyors of war, bow their heads as if the cared, while planning their next battle field. When will we learn, that war is their tool, their weapon of dominance. Their corridors of power are steeped in the blood of the ordinary people, sacrificed for some grand plan that only benefits the power mongers. There is no war to end wars, war breed wars. 

    As our own Prime minister stands there solemn and head bowed, what thoughts of Syria are going through his head. How many can he risk to get his moment of glory, to play the imperial  game with the big boys.
     We have been sending our young men and women to die across the globe continuously since that war to end wars, 1914/18, the blood of ordinary people has flowed in its gallons, and it will continue to do so, until we destroy this system of power that creates wealth for the few by devastating  humanity.

Fight To The Finish.

The boys came back. Bands played and flags were flying,

And Yellow-Pressmen thronged the sunlit street

To cheer the soldiers who'd refrained from dying,

and hear the music of returning feet.

'Of all the thrills and adrours War has brought,

This moment is the finest,' (So they thought.)

Snapping their bayonets on to charge the mob,

Grim Fusiliers broke ranks with glint of steel,

At last the boys had found a cushy job,

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .

I heard the Yellow-Pressmen grunt and squeal;

And with my trusty bomber turned and went

To clear those Junkers out of Parliament.

Siegfried Sassoon.

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Aftermath.

         Of all the war poets, my favourite is Siegfried Sassoon, Born, 8 September, 1886, died 1 September, 1967.

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The Prince Of Darkness Laughed.

       2014 has hardly taken its first faltering steps and those arrogant  dinosaurs of empire are out with their megaphones spouting that WW1, was a glorious victor for democracy, a noble cause, a just war for freedom. They want to mark the centenary of the start of that event, that soaked Europe's soil in the blood of ordinary people, as a glorious part of our history. History is to be re-written, what was a greed driven squabble between the aristocratic owners of empires, that sucked in and slaughtered the best of Europe's youth, is to be lauded as something of which we the ordinary people should be proud. The massive misery, suffering and deaths of that unnecessary, avoidable carnage, is set to be used as a bandwagon, by the millionaire flag waving parasites. It will be abused and misrepresented, in an attempt to portray that crap slogan “We're all in this together”. It will be used as a pompous platform of grandeur and splendour, to take our eyes of the poverty stricken state of our present society.

       We must continue to shout the truth about that disastrous ego driven aristocratic grab for power and territories, we owe it to all those who died under those pitiful, miserable, avoidable conditions. We cannot allow their unjust slaughter to be used by a bunch of well-heeled hypocrites, to further their own political ideology. At every turn we must counter their lies with truth. There was no aim for democracy in their plans, there was no defence of freedom on their agenda, it was a thrust for power, and land grabbing, on a grand scale, and as usual in their plans, we the ordinary people were to pay the price.

The following is an extract from an excellent article in the Guardian:

       This is all preposterous nonsense. Unlike the second world war, the bloodbath of 1914-18 was not a just war. It was a savage industrial slaughter perpetrated by a gang of predatory imperial powers, locked in a deadly struggle to capture and carve up territories, markets and resources.
      Germany was the rising industrial power and colonial Johnny-come-lately of the time, seeking its place in the sun from the British and French empires. The war erupted directly from the fight for imperial dominance in the Balkans, as Austria-Hungary and Russia scrapped for the pickings from the crumbling Ottoman empire. All the ruling elites of Europe, tied together in a deathly quadrille of unstable alliances, shared the blame for the murderous barbarism they oversaw. The idea that Britain and its allies were defending liberal democracy, let alone international law or the rights of small nations, is simply absurd.

Read the full article HERE:

At the Cenotaph.

I saw the Prince of Darkness, with his Staff,

Standing bare-headed by the Cenotaph:

Unostentatious and respectful, there

He stood, and offered up the following prayer,

'Make them forget, O Lord, what this Memorial

Means; their discredited ideas revive;

Breed new belief that War is purgatorial

Proof of the pride and power of being alive;

Men's biologic urge to readjust

The Map of Europe, Lord of Hosts, increase;

Lift up their hearts in large destructive lust;

And crown their heads with blind vindictive Peace,'

The Prince of Darknes to the Cenotaph

Bowed. As he walked away I heard him laugh.

Siegfried Sassoon.

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