minstral 5,375 Posted November 6, 2008 Share Posted November 6, 2008 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jimenez 1 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Posted this quite a few times before but I love it. Such a poignant statement. The inquisitive mind of a child Why are they selling poppies, Mummy? Selling poppies in town today. The poppies, child, are flowers of love. For the men who marched away. But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy? Why not a beautiful rose? Because my child, men fought and died In the fields where the poppies grow. But why are the poppies so red, Mummy? Why are the poppies so red? Red is the colour of blood, my child. The blood that our soldiers shed. The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy. Why does it have to be black? Black, my child, is the symbol of grief. For the men who never came back. But why, Mummy are you crying so? Your tears are giving you pain. My tears are my fears for you my child. For the world is forgetting again. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
MosesMcNeil 1,664 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 God bless them - all who gave their very lives to protect us, serve us and keep us free. Eternally grateful :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
bashfulblueorange 21 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
disgruntled_bear 157 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BeerHunter 0 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 God Bless the thousands who died for our freedom. Lest We Forget. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BlueSuedeSambas 56,378 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tam3r0wn 12 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wullie! 8 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
bluepeter 5,627 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Posted this quite a few times before but I love it. Such a poignant statement. The inquisitive mind of a child Why are they selling poppies, Mummy? Selling poppies in town today. The poppies, child, are flowers of love. For the men who marched away. But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy? Why not a beautiful rose? Because my child, men fought and died In the fields where the poppies grow. But why are the poppies so red, Mummy? Why are the poppies so red? Red is the colour of blood, my child. The blood that our soldiers shed. The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy. Why does it have to be black? Black, my child, is the symbol of grief. For the men who never came back. But why, Mummy are you crying so? Your tears are giving you pain. My tears are my fears for you my child. For the world is forgetting again. I've read that before when you've posted it, and it brings a tear to my eye every time. :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
scottrfcuk 3 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 brilliant poems. never forgotten :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
strar8 55 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 :unionflag: awesome poems Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Frankie 505 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above, Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love; The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test, That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best; The love that never falters, the love that pays the price, The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice. We will remember them. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BLUEDIGNITY 34,078 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Cover them over with beautiful flowers, Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours, Lying so silent by night and by day Sleeping the years of their manhood away. Give them the meed they have won in the past; Give them the honors their future forcast; Give them the chaplets they won in the strife; Give them the laurels they lost with their life. ~Will Carleton Absent Friends ! Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Blue Stars Bearette 1 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 in honour of all the brave soldiers...never forgotten ~~By Major John McCrae, May 1915.~~ The verses were apparently sent anonymously to the English magazine, Punch, which published them under the title, In Flanders’ Fields. Colonel McCrae died while on active duty in May 1918. On the eve of his death he allegedly said to his doctor, Tell them this. If ye break the faith with us who die we shall not sleep. IN FLANDERS FIELDS. In Flanders field the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
adam2102 662 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 i have been fortunate enough to see where my great grandad fought and showed his patriotism for his country. all in all he won 3 medals during his service and he was lucky enough to come back alive. however, he never spoke one word of his traumatic experiences. thanks to all the servicemen, never forgotten Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
bombaybadboy08 15,660 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 :unionflag: Lest We Forget Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
*Manticore* 1,893 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind. Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . . Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
J_RFC87 762 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Fantastic thread, great poems so far Lest we forget, wear your poppy with pride :unionflag: Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
*Manticore* 1,893 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Fantastic thread, great poems so far Lest we forget, wear your poppy with pride :unionflag: Here's a muddleboard poem: With a four leaf clover on my breast And the Green and White upon my chest No blood stained poppy on my hoops So fuck John Reid and fuck his troops. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
minstral 5,375 Posted November 7, 2008 Author Share Posted November 7, 2008 Fantastic thread, great poems so far Lest we forget, wear your poppy with pride :unionflag: Here's a muddleboard poem: With a four leaf clover on my breast And the Green and White upon my chest No blood stained poppy on my hoops So fuck John Reid and fuck his troops. my father was right about them, he said celtic as a club were scum. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BeerHunter 0 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 Fuck them Scum that they are. Let's be having some more quality poems please. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
edranger 0 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 For all of them lest we forget The Spirit When there ain't no gal to kiss you, And the postman seems to miss you, And the fags have skipped an issue, Carry on. When ye've got an empty belly, And the bulley's rotten smelly, And you're shivering like a jelly, Carry on. When the Boche has done your chum in, And the sergeant's done the rum in, And there ain't no rations comin', Carry on. When the world is red and reeking, And the shrapnel shells are shrieking, And your blood is slowly leaking, Carry on. When the broken battered trenches, Are like the bloody butchers' benches, And the air is thick with stenches, Carry on. Carry on, Though your pals are pale and wan, And the hope of life is gone, Carry on. For to do more than you can, Is to be a British man, Not a rotten 'also ran,' Carry on.. 'Woodbine Willy' Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
minstral 5,375 Posted November 7, 2008 Author Share Posted November 7, 2008 Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousands winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die. IN MEMORY OF THOSE WHO GAVE ALL Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
edranger 0 Posted November 7, 2008 Share Posted November 7, 2008 No Man's Land No Man's Land is an eerie sight At early dawn in the pale gray light. Never a house and never a hedge In No Man's Land from edge to edge, And never a living soul walks there To taste the fresh of the morning air; - Only some lumps of rotting clay, That were friends or foemen yesterday. What are the bounds of No Man's Land? You can see them clearly on either hand, A mound of rag-bags gray in the sun, Or a furrow of brown where the earthworks run From the eastern hills to the western sea, Through field or forest o'er river and lea; No man may pass them, but aim you well And Death rides across on the bullet or shell. But No Man's Land is a goblin sight When patrols crawl over at dead o' night; Boche or British, Belgian or French, You dice with death when you cross the trench. When the "rapid," like fireflies in the dark, Flits down the parapet spark by spark, And you drop for cover to keep your head With your face on the breast of the four months' dead. The man who ranges in No Man's Land Is dogged by the shadows on either hand When the star-shell's flare, as it bursts o'er head, Scares the gray rats that feed on the dead, And the bursting bomb or the bayonet-snatch May answer the click of your safety-catch, For the lone patrol, with his life in his hand, Is hunting for blood in No Man's Land. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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