'Ome (home)

A dieing WW1 soldier.

Ome, I just wana be ome, wiv me misses an the kids.  The fire ‘ill be bright ‘n’ warm na.  Before I packed an went, fings were rosey, just ansom.  It’s bin ah lifetime nah; I’ve forgot wot it’s like at ome!  All I remember is… this cold ‘n’ wet, stinking, ruddy ‘ole!

 

 

They say it’s Christmas na �" bu’ wos at a?  Christmas in this s**t ‘ole again.  Wot d’they care!  They don’t giv’a dam!

 

…we’re lined-up na, wa’in for the wiss’ol.  Then it’s up an over we go.  Runnin an dodgein, dodgein all ‘em bloody bullets again!  Runnin?  Bu’ where to?  Nobody tells ya, ya just RUN!

 

 

S**t ‘ere we go… OOF!!!

 

 

Some bugger’s it me in the guts!  Can’t move me legs.  Can’t ge’ up.  Wots appenin?  The noise, it’s gone, bu I can see fings appenin…

 

 

Cold, I feel cold.  I can see me misses an the kids!  Fings are goin funny.  I feel tired na.  Sleepy, I fink I’ll lay by ‘ere, jus’ for a bit…

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

War poetry is hard. To be in a situation where no-where to go and killing is all around. The mind would fall to a odd place when badly wounded. Strong description allowed the reader to create a sad vision. Home would be one of last thoughts. I do agree. A excellent poem.
Coyote