Welcome to the WWII Forums! Log in or Sign up to interact with the community.

RCAF Poetry

Discussion in 'Poetry' started by TacticalTank, May 19, 2011.

  1. TacticalTank

    TacticalTank Member

    Joined:
    Jan 26, 2011
    Messages:
    175
    Likes Received:
    5
    Location:
    Canada
    The German's you bombed showed us the light; well all still wonder, was it worth the fight? The Bomber's you rode came back with a bite. The patche's you wear show you have been through great despair. We all know, war is not fair. Least we forget, your honorable bet. Your life saved many it would be worth all the pennies.

    LEAST WE FORGET; MOOSA ASWAYITA No.419 Royal Canadian Air Force

    Thank you for keeping our Country safe and free. God bless Rcaf 419.
     
  2. Fred Wilson

    Fred Wilson "The" Rogue of Rogues

    Joined:
    Sep 19, 2007
    Messages:
    3,000
    Likes Received:
    325
    Location:
    Vernon BC Canada
    Written by Sqn Ldr Raymond Baxter, 1922-2006, WW II Spitfire Pilot and a Tomorrow's World presenter.


    Air Thoughts Grounded

    There is a world I deeply love,
    And thither would I roam,
    Where I can find true solitude
    And be at peace alone.
    And feel the living pulses
    Of the thing they call “my kite”,
    The feeling of belonging
    As part of it in flight.
    Up where the air is clear as ice
    In the realm of living light;
    Where the silence is eternal,
    Save for the song of flight.
    There shimmering mountain masses rear
    Their rounded heads in space;
    And I would soar above them, turn
    And dive upon them. Race
    Along their clear cut canyons
    With speeding, weaving ease,
    Then bore into the hillside
    Where swirling vapours freeze,
    Blanketing the senses.
    For I can spin the Earth before my eyes,
    and throw it o’er my shoulder,
    Because I love the skies!

    These fancies flit before me
    As I watch the patch of blue,
    Framed by the ward’s white window
    Which is my prison view.
    And I think of those I flew with,
    Of those who fly no more,
    Patrols and sweeps and “doggers-ho”
    Above the fields of war.
    The never-ending searching
    Around the glaring skies:
    The hunter or the hunted
    Its he who has the eyes,
    The skill, the nerve, the quickness,
    And Lady Luck’s sweet kiss,
    It’s he who lives to shoot the line
    And claim his pretty miss!
    But there is heart ache to it,
    There’s tragedy and fear!

    But who recalls the horrors
    When there’s singing, and there’s beer?
    Yet when the songs are ended,
    And there isn’t any beer,
    Come the shadows of the heart ache
    And agony and fear,
    Blanketing the glamour.
    But I can spin the Earth before my eyes,
    And toss it o’er my shoulder,
    And still I love the skies.

    Amen.
     
  3. Fred Wilson

    Fred Wilson "The" Rogue of Rogues

    Joined:
    Sep 19, 2007
    Messages:
    3,000
    Likes Received:
    325
    Location:
    Vernon BC Canada
    From Marcel G. Comeau's book Operation Mercury:
    An Airman in the Battle of Crete http://www.amazon.ca/Operation-Mercury-Airmen-Battle-Crete/dp/1900511797

    Number 33 Squadron song (Greece 1940 - 1941. )

    There is an RAF Squadron, it’s called thirty-three,
    Existing on sand storms at Mersa-on-Sea.

    We rise every morning the last star to see,
    Then nip away smartly to skive and make tea.

    ‘Duff gen’ is our motto – another move near,
    Then we all get blotto on “shandies” and beer.

    Far out in the desert, way out in the blue,
    Existing on sand storms at Mersa Matruh.
     
  4. Fred Wilson

    Fred Wilson "The" Rogue of Rogues

    Joined:
    Sep 19, 2007
    Messages:
    3,000
    Likes Received:
    325
    Location:
    Vernon BC Canada
    From Marcel G. Comeau's book Operation Mercury:
    An Airman in the Battle of Crete http://www.amazon.ca/Operation-Mercury-Airmen-Battle-Crete/dp/1900511797

    Bomber Squadron Song (Greece 1940 - 1941.)

    To Valona, to Valona
    Every morning just at nine
    Same old kites and same old Squadron
    Same old target, same old time.

    North of Corfu dawn is breaking
    And the sun begins to shine
    Macchi-hundreds and G fifties
    Waiting for us dead on time.

    Do four runs up says the CO
    And make every bomb a hit.
    If you do, you’ll go to heaven,
    If you don’t, you’re in the grit.

    On the way back, same old fighters
    And the gravy’s running low.
    How I wish I could see Larissa
    Through the snow storm down below.

    How I wish I were in Athens,
    Drinking cognacs by the score,
    And I need not ever go back
    To Valona any more.
     
  5. Fred Wilson

    Fred Wilson "The" Rogue of Rogues

    Joined:
    Sep 19, 2007
    Messages:
    3,000
    Likes Received:
    325
    Location:
    Vernon BC Canada
    John Gillespie Magee, Jr. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr.

    A US citizen (who never lived there) who flew for the RCAF. KIA in a mid-air in Dec 11 1941.

    Sonnet to Rupert Brooke

    "We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove
    One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme
    Where leaves were green, and whispered high above —
    A grave as humble as it was sublime;

    There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light —
    The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair;
    Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night,
    A soul that found at last its answered Prayer...

    There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees.
    And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave —
    Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze
    Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave

    New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept —
    A short time dearly loved; and after, — slept."
     
  6. Fred Wilson

    Fred Wilson "The" Rogue of Rogues

    Joined:
    Sep 19, 2007
    Messages:
    3,000
    Likes Received:
    325
    Location:
    Vernon BC Canada
    Perhaps the most famous of all.

    John Gillespie Magee, Jr. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr.

    "High Flight"

    Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
    And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
    Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
    of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

    You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
    High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
    I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
    My eager craft through footless halls of air....

    Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
    I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
    Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
    And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

    The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
    - Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
     

Share This Page