Wilfred Owen

(1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)

Wilfred Owen Poems

41. Happiness 1/3/2003
42. Spring Offensive 12/31/2002
43. Winter Song 1/3/2003
44. Schoolmistress 1/3/2003
45. Insensibility 12/31/2002
46. Conscious 12/31/2002
47. The End 12/31/2002
48. Wild With All Regrets 12/31/2002
49. The Young Soldier 1/3/2003
50. But I Was Looking At The Permanent Stars 1/3/2003
51. At A Calvary Near The Ancre 12/31/2002
52. The Letter 1/3/2003
53. A Terre 12/31/2002
54. With An Identity Disc 1/3/2003
55. The Sentry 12/31/2002
56. The Send-Off 12/31/2002
57. An Imperial Elegy 1/3/2003
58. Inspection 1/3/2003
59. Soldier's Dream 1/3/2003
60. Miners 1/3/2003
61. As Bronze May Be Much Beautified 1/3/2003
62. The Parable Of The Old Man And The Young 12/31/2002
63. Cramped In That Funnelled Hole 1/3/2003
64. Apologia Pro Poemate Meo 12/31/2002
65. Greater Love 12/31/2002
66. Elegy In April And September 1/3/2003
67. [i Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson] 1/1/2004
68. Beauty 1/3/2003
69. Strange Meeting 12/31/2002
70. The Last Laugh 1/3/2003
71. A New Heaven 1/3/2003
72. I Know The Music 1/3/2003
73. Arms And The Boy 12/31/2002
74. The Next War 1/3/2003
75. Futility 12/31/2002
76. Mental Cases 12/31/2002
77. Asleep 1/3/2003
78. Exposure 12/31/2002
79. 1914 1/3/2003
80. Disabled 12/31/2002

Comments about Wilfred Owen

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  • My dad hits me (11/6/2018 5:45:00 AM)

    I think I hear my dad outside

  • oi oi silly (11/6/2018 5:44:00 AM)

    agreed so true :)

    dab dab
    rawr xd

  • i like kids (11/6/2018 5:38:00 AM)

    jessi pope is one for war

  • fortnite is gay (11/6/2018 5:26:00 AM)

    he guys lets hang all the autistics

  • Bijay Kant Dubey Bijay Kant Dubey (11/5/2018 2:40:00 PM)

    Wilfred Owen is a poet connected with the horror and terror of war, brutal modern wars which take a toll heavily upon the soldiers, cutting down their precious lives for victory and gain. Away from their homes, they die as cattle and this twitches the heart of the poet. What can this war give to? those who get killed are they not men? This is but the element of pity; this but the element of humanity in him. Owen is not a poet of wars, but truces, pacts, treaties.

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  • Police (11/5/2018 8:03:00 AM)

    Ima come kill you all

  • your nan plays fortnite (11/5/2018 6:10:00 AM)

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  • Police (10/24/2018 8:10:00 AM)

    I will be reporting any suspicious crime that happens on this website

    Yours gratefully
    PC Jhon

Best Poem of Wilfred Owen

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 out 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.- ...

Read the full of Dulce Et Decorum Est

The Chances

I mind as 'ow the night afore that show
Us five got talking, -- we was in the know,
"Over the top to-morrer; boys, we're for it,
First wave we are, first ruddy wave; that's tore it."
"Ah well," says Jimmy, -- an' 'e's seen some scrappin' --
"There ain't more nor five things as can 'appen;
Ye get knocked out; else wounded -- bad or cushy;
Scuppered; or nowt except yer feeling mushy."

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