Poem
Alan Wearne
Gallipoli 2005
Gallipoli 2005
Gallipoli 2005
Hear the way élitists sniggerover our latest Little Digger;
well funny how there’s nothing said
when I address our living dead,
nor softest heckling intrudes
upon their mate’s beatitudes.
(Yet how can I . . . let’s clear some phlegm . . .
show I feel like one of them?
And how to find which words to choose
for ‘Fellas, I’m near one of youse’?)
Oh that my final battler breath
was breathed beside the AIF.
When little tops a patriot
line up lads, let’s see us shot!
Darwin to Cooktown via Geelong
my heart tells me where I belong:
hear it pounding beaut beaut beaut,
soundbites and a photoshoot.
Go slam shut each trendy gob,
I’ll take my orders from the mob.
Ahh democratic treasure trove,
let’s jet home to Anzac Cove!
© 2009, Alan Wearne
From: Previously unpublished
From: Previously unpublished
Poems
Poems of Alan Wearne
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Gallipoli 2005
Hear the way élitists sniggerover our latest Little Digger;
well funny how there’s nothing said
when I address our living dead,
nor softest heckling intrudes
upon their mate’s beatitudes.
(Yet how can I . . . let’s clear some phlegm . . .
show I feel like one of them?
And how to find which words to choose
for ‘Fellas, I’m near one of youse’?)
Oh that my final battler breath
was breathed beside the AIF.
When little tops a patriot
line up lads, let’s see us shot!
Darwin to Cooktown via Geelong
my heart tells me where I belong:
hear it pounding beaut beaut beaut,
soundbites and a photoshoot.
Go slam shut each trendy gob,
I’ll take my orders from the mob.
Ahh democratic treasure trove,
let’s jet home to Anzac Cove!
From: Previously unpublished
Gallipoli 2005
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