Competition - November 2011Various

Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin

Strange Iconic Sentinels
Stetching up towards the scattered light from a grey, cloud filled sky
You are the accepted symbol of our fallen men and women of wars current gone and by
Those perceived gallant lads and lasses, who gave their lives that we may celebrate our right
Our right to demonstrate against such loss of life and the futility of war

You who will never grow old, you whom we shall remember in each and every setting sun
You who fought and died in that which you believe was right
Whether victor or vanquished you fought your fight Never perhaps knowing the enemy in your sight

So with your crimson tops stretch on toward the light
Take with you their souls for us into the glorious light
Ask them to teach us how to live and not to fight
Ask them to show that only God has might and right

With your thin yet strong if at times tenuous grip
Show us that life is like the water you sip
Bitter and sweet, stormy and cold
But like those lost to us you will never grow old

So whether in flanders field or on erins green isle
If lost at sea and unknown no marker where you lay
Rise up my beauties and reach for the sky
Take heart, draw breath, for you need no longer sigh
As in God’s , and arms do you lie
comforted and free unlike this mortal coil

Aindre Reece-sheerin


Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin

Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few
Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro
Where we lay night and day waiting for the whistle blow - time to go once more into the breech
You wanna take some time but we’re still here still waiting waiting for the call

You say we’ll never grow old and you won’t forget us in the years and days
Can’t you smell it – its in the air war simply isn’t fair
I wanna take time time time
Just let me look on your face once more
Then close the door to forever more

Where once we stood too – where once we fought side by side
now Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro

The flashing’s not lightening, the silence is frightening
The Charge, as the whistles blow and the poppies flow to and fro
Its time to go, its time to go, time to go, time to go time to goooooooo

Aindre Reece-sheerin


Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin

There are no heroes no winners in WAR

The Blood, the mud the mutilated bodies and corpses
The stench in air, smoke filled and rotting flesh laying in their own excrement
Unable to be moved as yet for fear of mines

The smell of vomit on my clothes and in my hair
as I help those wounded to the butcher’s table
guillotined in anger and for what
only to die shorter and in even more pain

The screams of men once proud and steadfast
The whinny of horses, shell shocked and bloodied
The upheaval of earth, the stagnation of movement

The deafening of silence following each futile charge and barrage
The body strewn razor wire, lumps of humanity splattered and chopped here and there
The screech of the whistles commanding another onslaught against the scything guns

Quietude now, as it calls the all clear
Remains now only pain and hunger the last vestige of fear
Family pictures, mementos of loved one’s not near

Lest ye not forget me, remember what I gave and no I was not ‘Brave’
But I did what I believed right, and I took to the fight
as did he and she who brought the war to me

as then the poppies grow from my blood which did once flow
lest ye forget, we gave our lives to the futility of war
in the fervent hope, that you may never see what we saw

forget us not, stay ye firm and strong
hold our memories true and think sometimes of me
for we gave our lives believing that one day you would be free

Aindre Reece-sheerin


Ode to Fallen Heroes - John Buchanan

Their ranks did not sway
like rows of wheat.
They did all our nation asked
and then; gave more.

They that were so brave,
faced the onslaught,
like poppies in a storm;
resilient to the end.

We that survive them
owe a debt we cannot pay,
save to enjoy the freedoms;
each and every day.

If you see a scarlet flash;
on hedgerow, field, or path
pause a while, give thanks
and their memory will last.

John Buchanan


Remembrance - John Buchanan

The bugle calls ‘Last Post’
Silence descends
Some heads bow in prayer
Others gaze into the distance.

The wind stirred leaves
Swirl around the group
as if they’re the souls
Of the fallen - visiting.

In our minds
thoughts turn to those
who stood in harm’s way;
and met it.

Fallen heroes,
those buried with honour
at home and overseas
have names carved in stone.

Then there are the others;
those that did not die
but made it home with injuries
to body, mind or soul.

For all of them are changed
As a result of war
Either living with injuries
Or guilt or even what they saw.

When the Bugle calls ‘Rouse’
heads lift with tear in eye
The ‘grateful’ Nation reminded
Of the debt they owe and why.

John Buchanan


Heroes - John Buchanan

As the tempest’s mighty gusts cross the fields,
the wheat swirls and dances
like shoals of fish in the oceans deep.
- Amidst the tumult their ranks did not sway.

Among the golden wheat scarlet poppies stand tall,
delicate petals flap violently,
each gust threatens to disrobe the flower.
- Their ranks stood tall and proud against the storm.

Clouds churn in the sky as the storm rages
scudding across the heavens,
carried unwillingly by the mighty wind.
- Our heroes stood and fought for freedom.

The wheat in the fields lies flattened,
poppies are battered and torn,
storm clouds and heroes departed.
- Whilst the names that bought freedom live on.

Carved on stone memorials
erected in village squares.
For much of the year forgotten
- save for, by those left behind.

Some have their souls forsaken;
others gave bodies or minds,
many have images that haunt them
- the rest of their God given lives?

In November poppies are worn
As a roll that grows longer is read.
The nation remembers their sacrifice
- one they’re making yet.

So between Last Post and Rouse
As we silently mark our respect
Remember it’s not just the departed
- to whom the Nation’s in debt.

John Buchanan


Nature’s Ode to Man - Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin

I grieved as war murdered my children and I,
Bombs tore up the soil and blackened the sky.
Men lay silent and still atop barren terrain;
never before have I witnessed such pain.

I opened the sky. Drenched the ground with my tears
to quench each man’s thirst; wash away all his fears.
I was tempted to punish, for killing my land,
but stopped when I saw a man hold out his hand
to his brother. The hopeful love to which you all cling
is why I instructed the birds still, to sing.
From each death I offer a symbol of life,
to remember the battle, the cost and the strife.
To mirror man’s debt I have painted them red;
scattered seeds o’er dirt as a colourful bed.
While mortals are fleeting - through time I can soar -
and cover with bloom those who sleep evermore.

The loss of the earth was a loss of life, too.
In growing this flower I shall mourn with you.

Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin


Untitled - Martyn Legg

Poppies bloom, upon such peaceful, tortured land
As memories, seeded by some grieving hand
Blood red, showing us the pain and loss
Of war, and all its dross
So we a wiser people turn to face the day
In which to learn to love instead of hate.

Martyn Legg


Remember - Denise Bishop

Today I wore my Poppy, I wore it with such pride,
Remembering those before us, who fought for us and died.
Then there were the families of those that did not come back home,
Today if things go wrong for us, we have the cheek to moan.
Remember those who fought for us during that awful war,
Remember all those Soldiers, what they were fighting for.
This poem may be quite simple, but Oh so very true.
They fought for me, for us, for him, for her and also You.
They died for us our future, they did not live to see,
I keep a Poppy in my car as a stark reminder to me.
Imagine walking through a mine field, wandering where to tread.,
A Soldiers mind working overtime, his thoughts are filled with dread.
My Poppy is with me always, from January until December.
Every time I look at it, with the greatest respect
I Remember.

Denise Bishop