#dulce et decorum est by wilfred owen

[queermarzipan]

I think I did well on my exam!! :DD PROFICIENCY IN SPEECH AND DRAMA BABEY.

[apoemaday]

Dulce et Decorum Est

by Wilfred Owen

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines 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 flound'ring 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.

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

~ Wilfred Owens, "Dulce et Decorum Est"

via poetryfoundation.org

text id under cut-off

[ID/ Wilfred Owens poem, "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 gas-shells dropping softly 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 flound’ring 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.

/end ID]

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"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."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[that-gay-jedi]

Actually when Wilfred Owen describes a bayonet as "Thin with the hunger for blood" that was peak antiwar poetry & we do not give him enough attention

[maqabir]

im just now realising i had a 'dulce et decorm est' hyperfixation when i was younger. i knew the entire poem and i performed it to my class of 8 and 9 year olds in year 3. i also wrote it in my year 8 journal

[dolline]

I have just found out that Wilfred Owen was killed 1 week before ww1 ended and I will not recover

[spineless-lobster]

She dulce on my decorum til I est

​She pro on my patria til I mori

[charliemaybeghost]

A letter from Wilfred Owen to Siegfried Sassoon

From Rictor Norton's anthology of gay historical letters "My Dear Boy".

[poems-from-around-the-world]

Dulce et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen - UK

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 gas-shells dropping softly 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 flound’ring 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.

[relaxartworld]

Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen (subtitled excerpt - PART 3) ▶️FULL VIDEO👉 FULL POEM VIDEO ▶️ https://youtu.be/kEYK0aiRPmg 👈

"Dulce et Decorum Est" was written by the British poet Wilfred Owen during World War I. The poem depicts the horrors of war and the harsh realities that soldiers faced on the front lines. Owen draws upon his own experiences as a soldier in the trenches, where he witnessed the devastating effects of gas attacks. He refutes the idealism in the Latin phrase "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," meaning "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country," a commonly held belief during the time.

Follow us on www.youtube.com/@RelaxArtWorld (link in bio)

[thatgirlonstage]

Anytime I see a post that reminds me that reciting the pledge of allegiance in school is common in the US my soul briefly exits my body

Shit’s real fuckin weird. I understand how you would not realize that if you’ve been doing it all your life but I cannot emphasize enough *how fucking weird* it is.

[regina-cordium]

We were talking abt the poem in Flanders field and dad and I were struggling to think of the poets name and literally all I could remember was that he was gay

[sparksofcalliope]

Two Poems by Wilfred Owen

#poetry #war #poetrylovers #SparksofCalliope #PoetryCommunity #poems

Wilfred Owen (1893–1918) was a British poet whose powerful works provide some of the most poignant insights into the horrors of World War I. Born in Oswestry, Shropshire, England, Owen grew up in a lower-middle-class family. His early education sparked an interest in poetry, and he was influenced by Romantic poets such as John Keats. However, it was his experiences as a soldier during World War I…

[marbleluvrofliberty]

wilfred owen in that one poem

I would rather die serving cunt than die serving my country