In Passchendeale fields, the poppies still bow their heads in prayer, when thinking I heard an echo of guns,at the dying light of setting sons, I imagined if these fields could softly speak,of secrets unknown that they must keep,secrets borrowed from boys of slender years,who fell amidst that vale of tears; would they still tell of selfless acts,the shell shocked,the wounded and gas attacks,or let their reluctant heroes, in eternity sleep,where the poppies cradle their graves and weep. April 2013
The sky bled despair, spilling in hot gouts, where you became one with rich red mud, a winter's chilling motherless love. Huddled shell-shock letters, unfolded in the hearts of weeping brides, processions black clad wore, of death pale lillies fathers bore. Close your eyes my son, for anguished endings have begun, and pray,for their big push, not all glory ends well, for king and country, your bright star fell. June 2013
Thank you Verdun and Philippa. I don't have any more specifically about WW1,though I do have some about the effects of war,one about the Battle of Britain,a couple about the Vietnam War.Also - nature poems,relationships,the dark side of the human condition,even the odd horror poem
I'm so sorry to hear about your father and grandfather Philippa. That mustard gas was simply evil and my old headmaster flew in a Lancaster crew. The carpet bombing of Germany remains contentious to this day
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Fishy I would also like to read the others. It doesn't matter if they appear as above.
I can do that folks yes
Give me a little while...
Passchendaele - 1917
In Passchendeale fields, the poppies still bow their heads in prayer, when thinking I heard an echo of guns,at the dying light of setting sons, I imagined if these fields could softly speak,of secrets unknown that they must keep,secrets borrowed from boys of slender years,who fell amidst that vale of tears; would they still tell of selfless acts,the shell shocked,the wounded and gas attacks,or let their reluctant heroes, in eternity sleep,where the poppies cradle their graves and weep. April 2013The Trenches
The sky bled despair, spilling in hot gouts, where you became one with rich red mud, a winter's chilling motherless love. Huddled shell-shock letters, unfolded in the hearts of weeping brides, processions black clad wore, of death pale lillies fathers bore. Close your eyes my son, for anguished endings have begun, and pray,for their big push, not all glory ends well, for king and country, your bright star fell. June 2013Thank you Verdun you're very kind. The only trouble is copying and pasting,the format (line breaks etc) are important
That was the third Philippa
Thank you Verdun and Philippa. I don't have any more specifically about WW1,though I do have some about the effects of war,one about the Battle of Britain,a couple about the Vietnam War.Also - nature poems,relationships,the dark side of the human condition,even the odd horror poem
I'm so sorry to hear about your father and grandfather Philippa. That mustard gas was simply evil and my old headmaster flew in a Lancaster crew. The carpet bombing of Germany remains contentious to this day