World War 1 Poetry

To mark the centenary of the First World War, I have written a few pieces of poetry. I read several poems by Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen and Robert Graves, and was so moved I wanted to follow in their footsteps. The Patchwork Quilt is one of my favourites, and you can see it by clicking on the link.


The Candle

In Flander's Fields the poppies grow...

The wailing voice of the bugles
Calling us to die at the guns.
Sad prayers mingle
With the shrill rattle of shells.

The tenderness of the flowers,
Mockeries of the anger.
The demented shine 
In the eyes of mere boys.

But in the stuttering speed,
A lone candle glimmers.
Men slow
Lower their rifles
Mourning
In the failing light of hope. 

Hope

Hope is held holy

In the scarred minds of soldiers

A light in the dark 

What happened?

The man raises his head.

It hurts.

He feels the blood rush in his ears.

It hurts.

Looking around, he sees mud.

So empty.

Nothing else, him the only live creature.

So empty.

Shrapnel and bodies litter the trench.

All dead.

No-one else survived the shell bombardment.

All dead.

The soldier sits there, with not a friend left alive.

Alone.

He wishes he could die, save himself from the memories

Of friends that he once had.

Alone.

Crowding Around

The cheers and screams echo around
Marching feet thump the ground -
Bloodied men stagger on past
Women swoon and blow kisses, at last.

The other men stand apart, nervous and afraid.
Clutching white feathers, faces an equal shade -
Laughed at and mocked, humiliated and jeered
Because of what they believed, not feared.

The injured now rest in hospitals, white
While other young men join up, to win the fight.
What they don't know is across the sea green,
Are others dying for that right to be seen. 

Below Flanders Fields

Below Flanders Fields the soldiers weep -
Not even begrudged their eternal sleep.
Still waiting for the day to come,
When they can live again, like some
Dead people, not killed for hate so deep.

They were alive. A centenary ago
They lived, laughed, joked, loved and so
Now they wait for the change they deserve,
Below Flanders Fields

Can we learn from the deaths and the hate?
Maybe, but only if we wipe a clean slate
And begin to accept and love all the same;
No matter all previous destruction and shame,
But stay quiet. And remember those dead men, so great
Below Flanders Fields.