War Poetry

Waitin'

Back of the Front in this durn trainin' camp,
Day after day we are stuck, an' we swear
Whenever we hear th' regular tramp
Of th' men who are through and are goin' somewhere.
We're all of us willin', but why keep us drillin'
Forever?... Just waitin' for somethin' to do!

At home they are readin' th' outlandish name
Of a battle that's won or a hero that's dead
Of a stunt that had won him a place in this Game—
But all that I've won is a cold in my head!
While others are fightin' we're readin' or writin'—
An' the censors will see that it don't get to you!

We long for a scrap that will sizzle the blood;
We hone for a chance to bust in a head;
This marchin' an' diggin' in acres of mud
Ain't as excitin' as bein' plain dead.
War may be a curse, but this here is worse—
This dreamin' th' dreams that never come true.

All set for a mix-up that we can't begin;
Ready and anxious for whatever comes,
We're linked to the side-lines.... Ain't it a sin,
Spendin' good hours a-twiddlin' thumbs?
Seems like a crime to waste so much time
A-waitin'—an' waitin'! You'd find it so, too.

My bunkie is peevish, and I'm out of tune;
The Capting's a grouch whenever we hike;
If we don't get into this muss pretty soon,
We fellers are likely to go on a strike!
We signed for a scrap, not a tea or a nap,
Or to wait,
And to wait,
And to wait—
Till it's through!

by Everard Jack Appleton

The Old National Guard

You pull a lot of funny stuff about us, when there's peace,
The jokes you spring are sometimes rough, and make a guy see red;
But when there's trouble in the air you "vaudevillians" cease,
And them that laughed the loudest laugh, salute the flag instead!

Oh, it's kid the boys along
When there's nothing going wrong;
But when your country's facin' war,
You sing a different song!

The khaki that they doll us in ain't seen war service—no!
The most of it has been worn thin a-loafin' 'round the mess;
Folks think it's great to josh us when things are goin' slow,
But when the country's all het up—we ain't so worse, I guess!

Then it's, "Look! The Guard is here;
Fine set of men, muh dear."...
(We'd like it better if you spread
Your jollies through th' year!)

We're only folks—th' reg'lar kind—that answered to th' call;
We may be dumb and also blind—but still we'll see it through!
Just wearin' khaki doesn't change our insides—not a'tall!
We're human (Does that seem so strange?) waitin' to fight—for you!

We mayn't be worth a cuss
In this ugly foreign muss,
But when the nation needs some help,
Why—pass the job to us!

by Everard Jack Appleton

The Ladies' Man

Billy is a ladies' man; Billy dances fine
(Always was a bear-cat at the game);
Billy pulls the social stuff all along the line—
But he knows this business, just the same.

He can march; he can drill
As hard as any rook;
And he knows his manual
Without his little book.

Maybe he was soft at first—ev'rybody's that;
Golfing was his hardest labor then;
Now he's in the Service (where you don't grow fat),
Digging, drilling, like us other men.

He can eat, he can sleep
Like any healthy brute—
And the Captain says that Billy-boy
Is learning how to shoot!

When he joined the Training Camp, Billy says, "No doubt,
I will draw some clerical position;"
But he's shown he can command; so—the news is out—
He will get a regular commission!

He can talk; he can dance
(He is still the ladies' pet)
But the way he barks his orders out
Gets action, you c'n bet!

by Everard Jack Appleton

Cookie Jim

The capting says, says he to us:
"Your duty is to do your best;
We can't ALL lead in this here muss,
So mind your job! That is the test
O' soldierin',
O' soldierin'—
To mind your job, while soldierin'!"

When Jimmy joined the colors first, he knowed that soon he'd be
A non-com. officer,—oh, sure, he had that idee firm;
But Jimmy got another think, fer quite eventually
They had him workin' like a Turk, th' pore, astonished worm.

The rest of us, we gotta eat, and Jimmy—he can cook!
(He makes a stew that tastes as good as mother used to make.)
An' when he starts to flappin' cakes, why, every hungry rook
Is droolin' at the mouth for them, a-waitin' fer his take.

He's ranked a sergeant, but he don't mix up with no recruits;
He rides a horse when we parade (which ain't so often now);
But where he shines is when we eat; the grub that Jimmy shoots
At hungry troopers every day is certainly "some chow."

He's jest a "dough-boy," of a sort; it's Jimmy's job to cook;
Don't hafter drill, don't hafter tote a lot of arms with him;
Jest messes up th' stuff we eat, and we don't hafter look—
It's always clean! So here's a good luck and health to Cookie Jim!

The capting says, says he: "You rooks
Have gotta lot to learn, I'll say,
'Cept Jimmy; he's the best o' cooks
Troop Z has had fer many a day
While soldierin',
While soldierin'—
He does his work, while soldierin'!"

by Everard Jack Appleton