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We Must Go On: Three Poems

375 words

Tony Blair with Corporal Gordon Pritchard (far right) of the Royal Scots Dragoons in Basra, Iraq. This photo was taken a month before Pritchard, a father of three, was killed in action.

Rupert Brooke’s “The Soldier,” Updated for Modern Use

Now that I’m dead, think only this of me:
At least one corner of an English field
will be forever England. There shall be
in that small plot a deeper plot concealed;
a plot which England fell for unaware:
The giving of her self – to make a home
for those not English, for whom English air,
is not breathable unless blest: Shalom.

Bismillah. All Englishness shed away,
each pulse in the national mind is less
English. All old thoughts by England given
lie with me, dead dreams fatal as her day:
for tolerance, learnt in school, breeds weakness.
I rot away, under a foreign heaven.


Lebensborn Rückkehr
nach Gastarbeiter

I am not part of this place, I wasn’t
given the chance, taken, as I was, at
war’s end and sent across to a distant
world. One that I wasn’t part of, one that
I would always remain distinct to, not
of, alien, stranger. And now the same
distinction befalls me, here at this spot
which I thought I still belonged to. I came
to reclaim who I was, and to be where
I still fit . . . where I belong. But I don’t
fit here, not any more. They have lived here
too long. I’m not part of them – and I won’t
ever be. I left. They came. That’s that. I’m
from nowhere now, a stranger all the time.



We shall go on, because we must go on.
There is nothing to negotiate. No
matter what must be done or undergone
we must go on. And because we must, so
we shall.  Whether we go on to rise
at once, or after all, whether it be
that what we rise for is criminalized
or worse, we must go on. There’s nothing we
can do that is more important than this:
We must go on. Whatever we can do,
however we can do it, this much is
clear–there’s only one way we’re going to
continue, only one way we’re staying
who we are. We go on. And keep going.

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One Comment

  1. nineofclubs
    Posted May 18, 2017 at 7:58 pm | Permalink

    Excellent works, Juleigh. Invicta really conveys the inevitability of our struggle.

    I never cease to be impressed by your offerings, even though my own tastes run to writing more traditionally structured (yeah, yeah. I’m a fossil)

    By way of response, I humbly submit TV for your critical review. Apologies in advance for the Oz specific references. And the profanity.


    On TV they’re saying that times are still tough;
    we all have to do more with less
    And you hear us complain but they never explain
    How the fuck we got into this mess.

    The Morning Show says that free trade is the thing
    But I’m not sure if Kochie’s aware
    That the factory’s gone and like old mother Hubbard
    My cupboard and stomach are achingly bare.

    Jeff Kennet’s on now and he says it’s our fault
    Our wages, conditions, or both
    But they’ve thought up a plan that will turn it all round
    We’ve just got to have faith in ‘growth’

    On TV they’re saying that racism’s wrong
    and migrants are needed you see
    To pump up demand for new money and loans
    And rescue our economy

    But back on my street that’s just not how it goes
    What’s lost is too great to describe
    Replaced by the Babel of multitude tongues
    I long for my own true white tribe

    On TV they warn about radical talk;
    I turned the thing off I confess
    ’cause what I think is true; they have no bloody clue
    How to get the fuck out of this mess.

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