Fortune, I am not sure what you are asking. Are you looking for someone to refer you to an existing one or compose something? Is it just a general war poem you need or does it need to refer to some particular theater?
well, i am not "gifted" with the talent of poet, but something has come up that reqires a poem to be about 14 lines...i was hoping somebody who has the talent could give me a hand...
I don't know if this is too late for the need you have, but here goes. We Fought a War Here For every drop of rain, a flower grows, What grows from crimson rain? Young men’s vital living blood, Set free by bullet, bomb, and shell. On numbered hills, in nameless fields. What grows, what precious crop? Nourished with such ghastly food. Friends, husbands, fathers, sons Bled white and cold for this. What grew here from their loss? Freedom? A costly harvest, dearly won, most precious held, easily lost. Freedom Not free, yet worth the cost.
Well, now you’ve removed any doubt in my mind it may not have been original, I’m double impressed. You have a talent Sir. Puts me in mind of a cartoon of the great Philip Zec. "Here you are! Don't lose it again." No.9
I write a lot of poetry for my friends,I am willing to post them? if you like? this one has been used on several occasions at rememberance services. June. 1944/2004 What follows is dedicated to all those young men that never came home. I am Brian Guy, lately of 246 Field Company Royal Engineers. An Assaulting unit of the Third British Infantry Division; Monty’s Ironsides. From the Fields of Normandy I bring back many memories. Beneath them. I leave many friends, For they are; Les Fleurs de Normandie. The Flowers of Normandy Les Fleurs de Normandie. On Norman soil, they fought and died. Now young men's graves in rows abound. In Mother Earth's arms, now sanctified, The fragrant flowers of our youth are found. And yet, to rise again, as in a distant song. Small voices that call, in dead of night. Fleeting figures only in our dreams belong. Alas, they fade, in dawn's bright light. I see them yet, a sad, forgotten throng. Shadowed, lost faces, marching on. Over dusty roads, and high golden corn. The call of long lost friends are borne. We must not forget, the flowers of our days, Lest they lay unquiet, in numbered graves. For we lived, and loved, and life was sweet. Still yet, for us, awaits our last retreat. Flowers of our youth, now long since past. Our sweet autumn days are fading fast. We, who are left, flowered in our prime. Enjoyed golden moments, on borrowed time. Remember our friends, who passed this way. For all our tomorrow's, they gave their today's, On Utah and Omaha, Juno, Sword and Gold. Oh! Dear Lord! See that they grow not old. Brian Guy. Sapper Veteran
Shed a honest tear for all my friends..I still remember them. Where are you lovely lads? Where indeed. Sapper We, still live the years of mighty deeds. And grieve for our fallen, our wounded bleed. Who will ring the Bell of Freedoms song? When we are gone? When we are gone?
Odd, there was a request for a poem written by a ordinary person. I took the trouble to post what has been used as a lesson in remembrance services, Not a word from Fortune? except from Bigiceman, bless him. Sapper
sorry, i have not been good with checking up on these things, i really appreciate it that you took your time to do this for me thanks, fortune
This one I wrote for those that still lay in the fileds of Normandy. For all the MIAs Quietly! Quietly! Whisper my Name. So many long years ago I died, under Norman apple trees. But now my Spirit wanders, as a warm and gentle breeze. Hush! Quietly, Whisper my name, in that long forgotten place. Then feel the warmth of my Spirit, caress lightly on your face. For now, I am the jewelled Summer Lark, that soars on high. Bright in heavens concert hall, my song will fill the sky. I am the tumbling cloud’s that rise, to touch the face of Joy. No longer held by earthly bonds, a once young and vital boy. In an instant life was swept away, in a brutal savage war. Look not for me in Normandy, for I am there no more. I am the peace in woodland glades, in veiled cascades of green. Feel me close, in your times of joy, sensed, but never seen. Whisper my name, and hear my voice, in cascading woodland spring, Or England's flowered primrose banks, wherein the bluebells ring. Don’t mourn for me, quietly call my name, I'll visit in your dreams. And, fill your mind with the beauty, of heavens joyous scenes. Hush! Hush! Just whisper, quietly, call my name. Whisper quietly. Brian Guy. The long summer of 1944.
Well written indeed Sapper. How many years we would spend whispering those names. May God have mercy on their souls and my light perpetual shine upon them.
Summer days of June. Do ghostly battles rage across Those misty fields of France If we listen very closely now, hear the sounds of their advance Do the ghosts of the infantry, In open battle order march? Is that a man’s last despairing scream, across the river marsh? Was that a hot steel splinter? A quick sudden spurt of blood Flesh flayed down to ivory bone Soaked the blood bespattered mud In that quiet moment of early dawn Was that the sound of war, far away Are wounded here? Waiting to be saved So long ago, another summer’s day And yet in this quiet lonely moment When all natures voice came still Across the ripe swaying corn fields The battlefields, where we came to kill. And yet, I still hear the guns of Normandy But that was long ago, in the distant past The loss of friends, when we were young May their memory forever last. Brian Guy The long summer of 1944 Monty’s Ironsides.
I pray those lost have left those horrible conflicts to the living. Your friends now have peace, spared from war and rumor of war. Thanks for sharing Sapper. I enjoy your poetry. Thank you also for your service. You and your mates gave so much for us when we were still unborn. Bless you.
