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The Cursed Fate of the ANZACs
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#1
by Veteran Evil Roy - 4/9/2004 6:18:51 PM
Dulce Et Decorum Est
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 disappointed shells that dropped 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 floundering 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,
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 desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
        
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Sorry to see you go, but remember that in the GROSS empire you will always have a friend. 
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here,here me former beloved emperor 
    
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#5
by Veteran Evil Roy - 4/10/2004 7:46:26 PM
Counter-Attack
We'd gained our first objective hours before
While dawn broke like a face with blinking eyes,
Pallid, unshaved and thirsty, blind with smoke.
Things seemed all right at first. We held their line,
With bombers posted, Lewis guns well placed,
And clink of shovels deepening the shallow trench.
The place was rotten with dead; green clumsy legs
High-booted, sprawled and grovelled along the saps
And trunks, face downward, in the sucking mud,
Wallowed like trodden sand-bags loosely filled;
And naked sodden buttocks, mats of hair,
Bulged, clotted heads slept in the plastering slime.
And then the rain began, -- the jolly old rain !
A yawning soldier knelt against the bank,
Staring across the morning blear with fog;
He wondered when the Allemands would get busy;
And then, of course, they started with five-nines
Traversing, sure as fate, and never a dud.
Mute in the clamour of shells he watched them burst
Spouting dark earth and wire with gusts from hell,
While posturing giants dissolved in drifts of smoke.
He crouched and flinched, dizzy with galloping fear,
Sick for escape, -- loathing the strangled horror
And butchered, frantic gestures of the dead.
An officer came blundering down the trench:
'Stand-to and man the fire-step!' On he went . . .
Gasping and bawling, 'Fire-step . . . counter-attack !'
Then the haze lifted. Bombing on the right
Down the old sap: machine-guns on the left;
And stumbling figures looming out in front.
'O Christ, they're coming at us!' Bullets spat,
And he remembered his rifle . . . rapid fire . . .
And started blazing wildly . . . then a bang
Crumpled and spun him sideways, knocked him out
To grunt and wriggle: none heeded him; he choked
And fought the flapping veils of smothering gloom,
Lost in a blurred confusion of yells and groans . . .
Down, and down, and down, he sank and drowned,
Bleeding to death. The counter-attack had failed.
14 days to go.......
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#7
by Veteran Evil Roy - 4/11/2004 7:24:04 PM
THE WASTELAND
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'
13 days to go......
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| one day i iz writin something original |
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ok
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#10
by Veteran Evil Roy - 4/13/2004 1:04:09 AM
Evil Steve surveyed the ragged remnants of the once mighty ANZACs. Stydracos was in a coma. Warty had put up the ‘closed’ sign. Drako was having an ‘out of body’ incident. Outside of the retrospective and loyal LavaLampMaster, the only ANZACs left remotely alert were some little stragglers that had dropped by to try and sell some matches. Evil Steve had confiscated the little urchins’ stab at economic independence and put them to work grinding out proganda.
“Right u little urchins, “roared evil steve charitably, “I iz wantin’ ANZAC propaganda and wot iz u givin’ me? Pomes about death and waste. I mean iz not all bad, I iz likin’ da reference to gas, but wot iz it wiv all dis art. Iz u all batty boyz?”
Evil Steve sighed. The urchins were just too good. They couldn’t help it with their blackened faces and their little rags and their “please sir can I have some more” hands.
“Hazn’t I taught u nuffink?” roared evil steve gloomily.
Evil Steve slumped on the Royal Dunny, just in case he felt like revoking the No. 1 Rule. Those were the days. Betrayals, backstabbing, he had taught them all well – never-never, jackey-jackey - they were just the latest in a long line of fine pupils.
“Everyone turns on ya sooner or later!” roared Evil Steve thoughtfully.
A tear welled up in his eye as he remembered the old ANZAC motto - When da going gets tuff, da tuff iz changin’ sides.
Outside the armies of the Metaverse and set aside their unassailable differences to unite in their final assault on ANZAC positions.
“You iz all nongs, even if we iz not knowin’ wot dat means” crackled the Metaverse loudhailers through a overheating universal translator. “Give up while u az da chance.”
Evil Steve smirked at the irony. The Metaverse clearly didn't know what it was dealing with. All the real ANZACs had left already....
TO BE CONTINUED………..
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#13
by Veteran Gerakken - 4/14/2004 2:47:24 AM
Don't cry for the ANZACs, for they were brave and strong.
Fate twisted and conspired, and kept pointing them wrong.
Even though it was no fault of their own,
The cruel winds had blown,
And they were left to face the unknown.
Is that what you want the eulogy to say? Somehow, I don't think this whole extended death thing is befitting an empire I have been watching for so long in its several forms. It is kinda like watching a ritual Japanese suicide without the second to cut off the head: a slow, painful display of agony controlled by a will determined to make a point before expiring. So, do I just have bizarre thoughts, or is there some kind of point that is to be made clear in the end, even if it is in the entrails? I guess time will tell. I am sorry for the off-color post, but this is just how I feel right now.
[Message Edited]
  
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I will rejoin the once great team on April 25 for the last day. I encourage other former members and also team friends and antagonists to join for the day to honour this team.
I had a good time being part of the team.
It is unfortunate that it is being disbanded. The ANZACS certainly left a good mark on the Metaverse with their wit and dedication to the people and GALCIV.
   
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The notoriously independent MM77 joins an empire???? This is truly a special occasion! 
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Hmph. Sorry, wrong login...wrong homage. Obi Wan may yet return one day, but this is the ANZAC celebration.
  
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#23
by Veteran MM77 - 4/24/2004 1:17:16 PM
I sing
O
O
O
O
O
O
O
O
HELP ME LORD! SING!
Australiannnnnnnnnnnn Sunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
I sing
O
O
O
O
O
O
O
O
LORD ME HELP! SING!
Australiannnnnnnnnnnn Sunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Australiannnnnnnnnnnn Sunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Austraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaliannnnnnnnnnnn
Sunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
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My respects to my friends from the ANZAC empire, I join my glass and drink to your memories.
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