November
Hi All
It’s been the best ever month for submissions to the competition, so many excellent and heart-felt poems. Thank you everyone for entering and making the judging such an emotional experience this this.
Next month's subject is Christmas so start writing!
I promised to post my own poem about poppies and here it is:
STAINED by JUDY KARBRITZ
The youth once so proud of his country
Now silent and cold, cloaked in mud
The khaki material shredded
Stained dark from the slow seeping blood
His colleagues could not stop to move him
They had to run over the hill
His sergeant crept back in the moonlight
And prayed for him when all was still
He noticed the boy’s fist clenched tightly
A red petalled flower in his hand
Embracing the symbol of freedom
While dying on bleak foreign land
His sacrifice, how did it help them
The next generation of sons
Would they have peace in their lifetimes
Or die midst the firing of guns?
Again brave men went into battle
Families once more cruelly torn
Fighting for peace as their fathers
Protecting sons as yet unborn
The youth in the rainy car boot sale
Sold poppies in fond memory
Of soldiers who’d given their lives
So that he could live fearless and free
A man with a knife came up to him
And demanded the cash in his tin
But like generations before him
He wasn’t prepared to give in
He cried out as the blade sliced his body
And fell to the ground in the mud
The khaki material shredded
Stained dark from the slow seeping blood
This month’s Harrow winner is:
POPPIES by Jon Bromberg
It was dark I was scared
It was like no-one really cared
I lay so still, not moving an inch
I took some snuff, just a pinch
I closed the tin, to keep it dry
I tried terribly not to cry
Why was I here, why did it matter
What did I see see, bombs just shatter
My feet were cold, my legs were stiff
Sulphur was in the air, it did whiff
My friends where there, alive or dead
I did not know, it was in my head
The time came my score was up
No more Camp coffee in my cup
Then I saw it in the distance
Just a quick glance in an instance
It was small and delicate in the wind
Amongst the bodies, had they sinned
The leaves were green, the petals red
The poppy to remember the dead
And Barnet’s competition was written by:
ARMISTICE by June Sayer
One hundred years ago today
The Armistice. We must convey
our thanks to all the very brave
who sacrificed their lives - their graves
remind us of all those who fell.......
and those who must have gone through hell.
On this day we'll have our thoughts
(remembering all those who've fought
both near and far in many nations)
with words and quiet contemplation.
A fitting tribute - thanks to all
who stand up when their country calls.
Other worthy entries were:
REMEMBRANCE AND POPPIES Richard Adam
As a child my Grandad took me to see "Big Tree," a majestic evergreen in nearby fields.
After work each day, he would bring us chocolate nougats, and a bottle of Corona pop.
In the months before his death
On Tuesday 29th November 1988 aged seventy six,
I used to drink Vimto, hot, with him.
That Christmas 1988 was his magical gift to us.
Me, my Mum and our beloved pug
Sat in his room, his gas fire blazing, drinking pots of tea against freezing navy Christmas night.
Thirty years later
Melted Christmasses and joys had dissolved,
I think of the poppies in my late aunt's back garden
In Spring 1978.Pale red flowers,
Faded fires on long tall thin green stems, silky petals falling away,
The Big Tree was cut down decades back,
Its fields built upon.
POPPIES by Rose Wilson
"In every town and village green
Poppies lie on cold stone plinths
Where tears from leaden skies above
Ricochet off blood red tints.
Their ruddy living counterparts
Lately adorned a farmer's field
Embodying the bloom of youth
reaped too soon, dreams unfulfilled.
Wreathed blossoms which grew not in clay
Persist while they defy decay
Outlast those sprung from Nature's seeds
A reminder of heroic deeds
But also Sorrow, Grief and Pain
Too dear a price to pay again."
Standing Stone - by Hugh Turner
There was a small landslide today
Not that it will make the National press
It was simply an old standing stone
going to its next place of rest
Children played on that stone
Some stood on it too
They could even just see Ireland
on a day with a very clear view
So many people have used it
Many have been helped to see
when and where they could get to
what it was they could achieve
Time and weather took its toll on our stone
The freeze thaw gnawed at its surface
But this created chips off the old block
and made hand holds for future generations
But this stone was our true rock
hewn out of the Prescelli hills
one not taken to build Stonehenge
and now it lies there still
This stone is no longer standing
and we will see it no more
however the memories of its great inner strength
will live on forever in our core
There was a minor landslip today
insignificant in geological terms
Just a small part of global erosion
soon to be covered by ferns
Poppies by Kusum Hars
We arrive again at the time of the year
When poppies are placed for those dears
Who fought and lost their lives.
There are those who fought and survived
And now have come to remember that time
When life was in danger and they fought bravely
Along with mates who did not make it safely.
One such soldier I remember an old man now
Related his first ever encounter with the war.
A young officer of nineteen years old
Recently recruited and out of training
Full of bravery, ready to do his duty.
Straight into the war, described his first night
Bodies everywhere some his mates of a few seconds before.
He sat down to eat but felt sick looking around him
Almost swooned. Body trembling he pulled himself together
Just concentrated on the food. Ate and ate and ate
So he could forget the horrific sight around him.
Fatigue and sleep overcame him, took away the horror of the war
Peace we want not war, here as well as everywhere.
The Volunteer by Ian Bloom - Barnet
If you had known then
What you know now,
Would you still have gone
To fight at the Somme?
If you had been told
What you know now,
That you would never
Go home, never grow old?
If you had been asked
Do you know you'll die
Young, leaving no trace
To place in a casket?
If you had known then
What you know now,
You were Heaven bound - but
Your Heaven was in the ground.
POPPY IN YOUR NAME by Ruheena Shah
As I lay my poppy, dear in your name
Rushing in my mind your memory came
All those years ago when you went away
I always waited for you, without dismay
When the news came about your demise
I couldn't believe, I should have realised
The brutal war had taken so many lives
So many men widowed their loving wives
All the memories come rolling in my mind
How cheerful you were and was so kind
The promises we made to be together
Has faded away, fulfil they will never
The day we wedded in the local church
You lost the ring and started to search
Every body was waiting for you to find
I said I'll wed you still, I do not mind
On our honeymoon I lost my purse
I blamed it on the gipsy's curse
I couldn't walk long in my high heel shoes
I had to walk barefoot, I couldn't choose
We were so happy in our little house
My dear husband and my darling spouse
You were so young only twenty four
Your life cut short, enjoying before
You had to join the army, go to war
Our country needed you, you went far
I am proud of you what ever it was
Your gave you life for a good cause
As memory rolls down along with tears
I stand at the memorial, strong no fears
I never married again, I couldn't share
I love you still, with you, I wouldn't dare
REMEMBRANCE POPPIES - Ian Herne
Poppies promote peaceful ponderings;
Poppies pacify past Paladins;
Poppies prod placid pasture;
Poppies prompt protective prayer;
Poppies perform profound pageant;
Poppies plant pride, prudence;
Poppies picture Picardy purgatory;
Poppies punctuate Passchendaele pity;
Poppies provide patriotic parlance;
Poppies perturb puerile populace;
Poppies, pistols, ponies, PTSD;
Poppies poetry paints perfidy;
Poppies produce picturesque phantasmagoria;
Poppies propose plaintive panacea;
Poppies press, poppies placate;
Poppies pretty petals predominate;
Poppies promise precise prescription;
Poppies please, prevent perdition;
Poppies protect people's psyche;
Poppies present peace, propriety.
REMEMBRANCE (& POPPIES) by Helen Cynthia Feldman
What was the Great War fought for?
Was it all to maintain as a Wasp monopoly
Imperialism, war-mongering, genocide?
The ending of it worries me as well
On the eleventh month’s eleventh day
And the eleventh hour. That looks as if
Those in charge of it gave priority
To ending at a memorable time
Instead of as soon as was possible.
THE POPPY by Philip Celner
In the long grass by the lane
poppies have popped blood-red
in a crowd less numerous than the dead
opium reverse of shell-shock
the same but good
in the Monet a frisson
where was the pain of bereavement’s gut
but the trenches and the camps?
only the past case of the absence of God
when love only instituted
is there no love?
and God instituted no God
and the poppy so fragile
so temporary
Continuing The Traditions Of Remembrance And Poppies
by Patricia J Tausz
Blood red poppies are being sold in thousands of outlets, shops
Each time I see them my heart briefly stops
I am recalling the ultimate sacrifice thousands upon thousands of men made
We publicly recall them at every Remembrance Day parade.
A hundred years ago on the eleventh of November the guns stopped pounding
A truce had been called - across many lands a solitary bugler the Reveille now is sounding
Calling to mind those men who proudly gave their lives
Behind many were left weeping - girlfriends, sweethearts, wives
Brothers, sisters, parents were amongst the countless bereaved:
Each year we remember them for we too feel we are grieved.
The poppies we wear remind us of the innumerable pints of blood
Shed by those fearless soldiers who died in the stench and mud
We must continue to honour them as that entire generation has now gone to the life beyond the grave
After all they were our heroes, honourable as well as brave.
So like me I ask you to wear your poppy with pride
For we must never forget the reason why they died
This routine should be carried on by future generations
For those soldiers never were afraid to answer the call: 'Action stations.'
A Soldier`s Lament - Jo Harris
A soldier in the trenches daringly stretches out his hand to touch a poppy,
Its vibrant colour is now fading, but its softness reminds him of the girl who awaits him,
Is she still strong, is her love tender, can she stand their separation?
The noise of the guns deafen his ears,
He misses his family, his friends, his home,
His feet are wet, his kit is stinking, rats abide with him,
He visualises his father puffing at his pipe,
His mother tidy, her kitchen small but bright,
What would peace mean?
He withdraws into himself,
He asks a rhetorical question,
What would peace bring for ordinary folk?
He is losing all hope.
Remembrance and The Poppy by Howard Lambe
The battlefield lies cold and still
Scattered with destroyed artillery and twisted steel
The Poppy raised its weary head
Through the earth next the recent dead
Many had died that fateful day
Where nothing was achieved, it was such a waste
Of good men's lives horrible as they lay
In freezing craters full of blood, water and clay
An eerie silence gripped the air
No one moved it was as if they were in shock or scared
Wrecked tanks and field guns stood like monuments to those who fell
Having sacrificed their lives in that living hell
Through this misery a gleam of hope was born
As The Poppy grew and flowered, sad but not forlorn
Which became a symbol, a badge of peace
A token of remembrance for those sadly deceased
Permanent memorials were later erected
Throughout the country for their memory was for ever to be respected
Now every year at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of November
The nation stops and observes two minutes silence to quietly remember
Numbers by Jeff Edmunds
One poppy, one day, one hour
Two minutes, two friends, two tears
One band, many marchers
One cenotaph, many wreaths
One reveille, one hymn, eleven chimes
One echoed command, many salutes,
many boots on tarmac
One town square, many witnesses
Repeated many times across country,
continents, borders
Shared hope, shared tragedy
Shared memory
One purpose, many wishes, many whys
Names are read aloud. The many
remember the few. The brave salute
the brave. The saved salute the sacrifice
of others
Commentators try to balance the figures
Can war and loss ever be reduced to
mere numbers?
Have a good month
Judy
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