With sense keen all nerves alert.
we move along the track,
with weapons gripped in ready hands,
all ready for the trap;
That the lurking foe might choose to make,
to take us by surprise,
Not a palm frond sway, or a falling leaf,
escapes our watchful eyes.
Not a word is spoken as we file along,
unbroken the jungle’s gloom.
Heavy the humid sultry air,
with a sense of impending doom.
No sunlight streams through the forest aisles,
that tangle of lush green hell.
Where the struggling vines festoon the trees,
in confusion we know so well.
Tensed for the impact of a shot,
from a hidden sniper’s lair.
Ready for the deadly booby traps
to take the innocents unaware.
Scanning the tops of nearby trees,
ready to clear the track.
And reply with chattering Owen gun,
to the sniping rifle’s crack.
The soft deep mould, the clinging mud,
that stench of rotting leaves.
the reek of death as silent forms,
the foe behind them leave.
Unburied there beside the track,
their conquering days are o’er.
They’ll know their land of cherry trees,
their island den no more.
The forward scout drops swiftly,
in the shadows near the track.
A group of Jap-built huts he’s seen,
and swift the word comes back.
We fan out from the narrow trail,
leave some to watch our flank,
and sneak upon those rude grass huts,
through jungle green and dank.
We work in pairs from hut to hut,
find trace of recent foe.
Black fires still warm, and half cooked rice,
on cautious way we go.
A sudden roar as a lone sick Jap,
holds grenade against his chest,
thinking he’ll take us with him too,
to that heathen warrior’s rest.
No wonder we’re callous, hard at heart,
no pity for the wounded Jap.
Many a brave Australian life,
was taken by the same trap.
No wonder we’re know as a cut-throat bunch,
who no tender mercies feel,
and put Jap wounded out of pain,
with a shot, or the cold blue steel.
Discarded clothing strewn around,
cooking utensils, food.
In a hurry he’d left his jungle camp,
as his privacy we intrude.
Picks and shovels, odd shaped boots,
in fifth and mire they lie.
While overall lies that foul Jap stench,
we pass with a thankful sigh.
The endless trail winds ever on,
cross gorges wild and deep.
O’er perilous bridges of swaying vines,
our eyes alert we keep.
Round mountain side and cliff high face,
where torrents far below,
race on their swift and turbulent way
as down chasms deep they flow.
Slowly the jungle paths grow dim,
as the evening hours drag on.
When an open patch of Kunai grass,
our tired eyes rest upon.
When we’ve searched its flanks for a hidden foe,
and found not one Jap in sight,
we spread out in a well armed ring
for another jungle night.
(Corporal Peter Coverdale)
More Poetry from Corporal Peter Coverdale:
Corporal Peter Coverdale Poems based on Topics: Sadness, Faces, Death & Dying, Hell, Life, Pain, Night, Courage, Nature, Cooking, Moderation & Temperance- Native Stretcher Bearers (Corporal Peter Coverdale Poems)
- Kokoda Trail Walking Wounded (Corporal Peter Coverdale Poems)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Night Poems, Sadness Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Nature Poems, Faces Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Pain Poems, Courage Poems, Hell PoemsBased on Keywords: festoon, privacy, impact, scanning, frond, owen, jap, unburied, grenade, sniper, utensils
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