Your poems

One day per year, is all we set aside,

To honour those who perished "over there"

Two minutes silent prayer for those who died,

Does not seem to me to be quite fair.

Those gallant souls, who proudly marched to war;

Who bravely laid their lives down on the line.

I demand that they are worth far more

Than one day's clock's eleventh hour chimes.

The winds of time no longer cools the brow

Of those who lie at rest, in foreign earth.

Are they truly well-remembered now?

How does this nation really count their worth?

We would not have had a life to live,

If the enemy had landed on these shores.

Yet, those who gave all that they had to give

Are rewarded, with two minutes silent pause.

For those to whom we owe so much, we pray.

To those, on whom the sun will never set

We owe a debt we never can repay.

God bless them all: and let us not forget.

LP Brighton, Darlington.

Remembrance Day

Here lies a field of poppies, the colour is blood red

Here lies a field of poppies, a remembrance of the dead

Turn back the time, turn back the pages

And you will see in this field a battle that rages.

The landscape was lush, a vivid green

No poppies around, not one to be seen

The soldiers all fought and died one by one

'Til the life of each living, was at last dead and gone

They buried those soldiers in that field of green

Their battle for freedom lost in a dark dream

The blood of these soldiers had seeped into the earth

And the seeds of the poppy sprang forth and gave birth

A symbol of those deeds, of heroes long dead

I will wear one with pride, the poppy so red.

Barbara Tyers, Cleveland.

November

Remembering the Ravages of War

November is with us once again.

The month we remember with pride and pain.

Our thoughts with families and friends slaughtered like cattle.

Who lost their nerve. were mentally disturbed

to see comrades slain in battle.

For every victory gained

Men were blinded and maimed.

Cut down In their prime.

Taken before their time.

November Is the month we should never forget

when we recall those who are now totally bereft.

Mary Wright, Shildon.

War

As children lie crying in their mothers' arms,

I see how much war other people harms

Many are sleeping on the floor,

Innocent victims of another war.

As I look across this camp compound,

The lost refugees mill all around.

Family members lie around, dying or dead,

Their lives taken by bullets of lead.

Still the bullets and bombs go flying through the air,

Killing and maiming, who they don't care.

Families huddle together, cold and damp,

As the rain pours across the camp.

We try to help those in need,

Caught up in a war, caused by someone else's greed.

The sights we see bring a pain to our heart,

Lives are cruelly shattered and torn apart,

As people of all ages stumble around,

A convoy comes in, new injured they have found,

In a tent, a doctor fights to save a child's life,

Yet another innocent victim in this world of strife.

We try to comfort those in pain or with grief,

We try to give aid and food relief

To these people, peace seems like a dream,

They know that life is never what it may seem.

Peace these people often pray for,

An end to unwanted, terrible bloody war.

Bombs and bullets ignore the Red Cross on my arm,

They don't mind or care, who they kill or harm.

While their fathers and menfolk are lying around dead,

The children by their mothers into our compounds are led.

I've seen the refugees lying cold upon the ground,

The wounded, the dying and the dead, all around.

Soon I leave here, my job's complete,

I'll go back to my own peaceful retreat,

But back in England, on the beach I'll stand,

Looking out over the sea, towards this war-torn land.

Helping these people, as still the bombs and bullets fly,

I know friends and colleagues will continue to try.

Even as you read this, more people suffer and die,

TELL ME, DO YOU EVER REALLY WONDER WHY?

When you have your daily grumble or whine,

Remember the child, disfigured by a landmine.

Pray for those that are in camps, hungry and in need,

Pray for peace, an end to these wars of greed,

Pray for these people, their wounded, dying and dead,

Pray for them all, as you lie in your safe, comfortable bed.

FPJ Harwood.

Lest We Forget

We pay homage to those who died

Defending the right of liberty.

We remember with sadness their sacrifice,

Upholding the cause so valiantly.

In serried ranks these brave men lie,

At peace on a distant shore.

From Burma, Arnhem to Alamein,

On the battlefields of war.

In Flanders fields red poppies bloom

Watching o'er their eternal sleep

A scarlet mantle for the dead,

Their sad and silent vigil keep.

Sailors fought upon the seas,

And died beneath its waves

Sank into the ocean's depths,

To seek their watery graves.

Remember the airmen those gallant few

Who streaked across the sky.

White vapour trails twisting in the air

As we watched with a fearful eye.

Civilians also paid a price,

Their homes bombed night and day

The Civil Defence who gave their all

In gratitude we pray.

At church, cenotaph or village green

We gather round to mourn

All those who freely gave their lives

That we might see the dawn.

The torch of freedom still brightly burns

With a warm and cherished glow.

Remember forever "Lest We Forget"

The eternal debt we owe.

GW Skaife, Saltburn.

The Poppy

Then poppy is all blood red

Well-chosen for its part

Reminding us of so many dead

The symbol of the heart.

Thro' Flander's fields in Somme clay

It raised its nodding head

Over those who in ten thousands lay,

Blood-spattered to match its red.

For what they died - their sacrifice

E'en though so oft in vain

They paid on our behalf - the price

In so much death and pain.

Some scoff and jeer at Poppy Day,

Make foolish, hurtful claims.

That war is "glorified" this way

And deny the day's true claim.

To bring home the price of war

Close to each generation.

That it in turn might never more

By war seek reparation.

Though years have passed

And most of those who fought

Have gone beyond recall

Yet still the poppy symbol ought

Remind us of them all.

H Barren, Carville, Durham.

Within The Silence

At times, within the quietness

When everything is still,

There's something there

I can't explain.

It's then I "know"

But don't know how,

And answers are there

To things I don't understand.

A presence, a feeling,

A sense I'm not alone.

A glow of love

That touches the depth of my soul.

A peace descends,

That overwhelms me.

Something that touches my heart,

And I just know that "something" cares.

Marge Mason, Newton Aycliffe.