Pokies Meaning Memorial Day Poems

Children attending to the Australian war graves in Villers-Brettenoux, the courtyard at the Victoria School in Villers-Brettenoux, the devastation of the Victorian bushfires, the plaque at Victoria school - Villers-Brettenoux, an Australian Soldier helping a French man in the rubble of Villers-Brettenoux following the war, an image of the war memorial at Villers-Brettenoux and pennies representing the money raised by the Australian children to send to Villers-Brettenoux to rebuild their school.

RSL National added 6 new photos. Military Shop View it first! This wonderful new clip shares our pride in the famous war horses of the light horse — the Aussie bred Waler. A timeless clip made especially for the Beersheba centenary happening today and the beautiful figurines created to celebrate the Australian Light Horse at this special time. View the collection here: Those strong, loyal, fearless creatures, makes me want to cry.

Add this stunning set to your wardrobe and celebrate the first years of Australia's commitment to looking after our returned veterans.

Remembrance Day - poem

Military Shop Watch our special Australian Light Horse Beersheba video made especially for the Beersheba centenary and the beautiful figurines we created to celebrate the Australian Light Horse at this special time. Adam Little one of our participant wrote: One Veteran wrote on his face book page the following: Listening and chatting with these veterans and instructors was and absolutely amazing experience.

So if you are struggling in life or know someone who is, get in contact with the Remount team as there relaxed and professional and there facilities out on the farm are amazing.

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  • In , inspired by the poem, YWCA worker Moina Michael attended a YWCA Overseas War Secretaries' conference wearing a silk poppy pinned to her coat and distributed over two dozen more to others present. In , the National American Legion adopted it as their official symbol of remembrance date‎: ‎May
  • Poems for Memorial Day. Memorial Day has come to mean the beginning of summer, a time for picnics and barbecues, and a holiday to gather around the family. That happiness and freedom, however, is a product of the real cause for the holiday: the sacrifice made by men and women who have fought and died for the  Missing: pokies.

RSL National added 2 new photos. Great evening and great film. By then, her career was in a steep decline. Modeling offers soon ceased and her fashion industry friends, including Sandy Linter, refused to speak to her, fearing their association with her would harm their careers. In an attempt to quit drugs, she moved back to Philadelphia with her mother and stepfather in February She was arrested in March after she drove into a fence in a suburban neighborhood.

After a chase with police, she was taken into custody where it was later determined she was under the influence of alcohol and cocaine. After her release, Carangi briefly signed with a new agency, Legends, and worked sporadically, mainly in Europe. In latealthough still struggling with drug abuse, Carangi was determined to make a comeback in the fashion industry and signed with Elite Model Management.

While some clients refused to work with her, others were willing to hire her because of her past status as a top model.

Scavullo photographed her for the April cover of Cosmopolitanher last cover appearance for an American magazine. I could see the change in her beauty.

There was an emptiness in her eyes.

Carangi then mainly worked with photographer Albert Watson and found work modeling for department stores and catalogs. Paylines Pokie Inserts East appeared in an advertising campaign for Versace, shot by Richard Avedon. He hired her for the fashion house's next campaign, but during the photo shoot, in lateCarangi became uncomfortable and left before any usable shots of her were taken.

Carangi's final photo shoot was for German mail-order clothing company Otto Versand in Tunisia; [22] she was sent home during the shoot for using heroin. She left New York for the final time in early As she had squandered the majority of her modeling earnings on drugs, Carangi spent the final three years of her life with various lovers, friends, and family members in Philadelphia and Atlantic City. She was admitted to an intense drug treatment program at Eagleville Hospital in December By lateshe had begun using drugs again.

After the death of our beloved dachshund, Silke, we were inspired by the kind words and prayers offered by our friends. Whether you use this page to find the right words of condolences to others or read for your own peace of mind, we hope that it brings you comfort. You are not alone in your journey. At some point, all pet parents face this heartache.

Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.

But the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love. There is nothing of value they have to bequeath except their love and their faith. The misery of keeping a dog is his dying so soon. But, to be sure, if he lived for fifty years and then died, what would become of me?

He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea. He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me. When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile.

When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion.

With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.

His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things. He has promised to wait for me… whenever… wherever — in case I need him. And I expect I will — as I always have. He is just my dog. I wish someone had given Jesus a dog.

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  1. Remembrance Day is celebrated in schools all over Canada and it is important for children to understand this special day. I wanted to be able to explain the significance of Remembrance Day to my kids, so I created this resource for them. It begins with the Story of the Poppy in kid friendly language with appropriate visuals.:
    "Contemporary and First World War Poetry that may be suitable for Remembrance Day and peace events. Home at Last - Former soldier, Tony Church, describes the events and significance of the return of a soldier's body to the UK. Sunset vigil - Sgt Andy McFarlane. This records the send-off of a dead soldier from  Missing: pokies. Probably the most famous and widely read war poem in English and also known, in extract form, as the Ode of Remembrance, For the Fallen was first published in The Times on September 21 , just a few weeks after the First World War began on July 28 that year. Binyon was too old to enlist as a  Missing: pokies. We Shall Keep the Faith - a Remembrance Day poem.
  2. (Multi) We Shall Keep the Faith - a Remembrance Day poem.:
    Explore Margaret Carroll's board "Poppy" on Pinterest. | See more ideas about Field of poppies, Flanders field and Landscapes. Memorial Day weekend kicks off our modified summer schedule! to bealive me as one day i did took my wife's medication (Atroiza) and i was like a normal person. meaning i didnt sleep like a dead person during the night and even “History is a cyclic poem written by Time upon the memories of man.
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You Pokies Meaning Memorial Day Poems cents

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He died of pneumonia on the battlefield in January This narrative poem about the noted battle in the Crimean war was written by Tennyson in It has become one of the defining war poems, capturing the thrill of battle as well as the futility of conflict and the brutal reality of fighting. It was widely popular at the time, and one couplet in particular has passed into the vernacular: Written between the wars in , Thomas's poem takes on a broad theme of remembrance and the eternity of the human spirit.

Instead it's a measured meditation on being in the firing line during war, and being drawn to "a tumult in the clouds".

Edward Thomas chose to enlist in the Artists Rifles in Though not much of his poetry deals explicitly with war, the war is often referred to obliquely. Adlestrop is a haunting portrait of the quiet calm of England, in contrast to the horrific fighting taking place abroad, as remembered by Thomas when his train made a stop in the Cotswolds just before war broke out in Thomas was killed in action at Arras on Easter Monday, April Adlestrop was published soon afterwards.

Larkin's heartbreakingly poignant poem reflects on the patriotic optimism of the young men queueing up to enlist in The poem was written in , when some critical distance from both wars had been reached. In the wake of colossal destruction, Larkin looks back with devastatingly sharp hindsight at the doomed notion that war would be akin to "an August Bank Holiday lark" for those about to fight.

It brings vividly to life the desperate human misery of warfare, condemning and raging against the "lie" that war is noble. Owen served on the front line in the Manchester Regiment, suffering severe shell shock, and was killed in action on November 4 His mother was informed of his death on Armistice Day, seven days later. We urge you to turn off your ad blocker for The Telegraph website so that you can continue to access our quality content in the future. Click here for instructions.

Home News Sport Business. F or the Fallen - Laurence Binyon Probably the most famous and widely read war poem in English and also known, in extract form, as the Ode of Remembrance, For the Fallen was first published in The Times on September 21 , just a few weeks after the First World War began on July 28 that year. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them. If I should die, think only this of me: When battles fought fly around my head Do you know? When you speak with an acid tongue And tell me I was wrong Do you know the price we paid In the jungles of Vietnam?

For you can pick up any map, choose any town or village there, and should you travel to that place, then you are quickly made aware of what War really is about The War Memorial; all closely carved with the Communal loss of a Generation Grandfather said Recruiting Sergeants travelled round the local pubs, patriotic fervour Come and take the King's Shilling All your pals are joining up.

Don't be scared, you'll be just fine! But, as they marched out of their villages and towns, to cheering crowds, with flags and bunting gaily waving And, it was not for nothing, they decried this Military travesty, for these old men had fought the Boers, and quelled the Indian Mutiny.

Knowing then, what modern weaponry could do to flesh and bone; knowing that the General Staff were so remote, and quite alone in their belief that Flanders could be fought, the same as Waterloo; "Lions led by Donkeys" is the phrase Historians use The truth is this Then, the scramble from the trench Shoulder then, to shoulder; trudging on towards the German wire, and, shoulder then, to shoulder; swift, mown down, by vicious, withering fire from machine guns, well dug in, all along the parapet of the German Front line trench The Accrington Pals, strength seven hundred; close, six hundred dead and gone.

So, too; the Leeds Pals, strength nine hundred Most of those within the first hour, whole platoons of Pals cut down; killed or wounded, out in No Man's Land And, at the closing of the day, the Pals Battalions, all, were gone; sixty thousand men were lost, that bloody First day on the Somme. And, through the Northern towns and villages, the church bells tolled forlorn, for days Brothers, cousins, workmates, friends, in the same factories, pits, or mills, who often lived in the same street, had gone to the same school, and still had courted the same sweethearts, or by marriage, were related too; the Pals, the Chums Scarce a household left untouched All together, tied by bonds of local pride, they marched away, all together, bonded now, in Death Is it not time we cried, "No More?

Somehow, l don't think so See there, the Flower of a Generation squandered, out of hand Every family in the North was touched by that day, it is said, in some way or another For every nine sent out in No Man's Land, five casualties went down, and of those five, a third were killed A Husband, Son, or Brother; Cousin, Friend, or Lover, lost that day; no-one imagined this, as they stood, cheering them upon their way, back then, down the same cobbled streets; with curtains drawn now, silently; all round the smoky, terraced houses, grief now hanging, heavily.

A loss that almost robbed a Nation of its future David Mace, To top of page I went to see the soldiers I went to see the soldiers, row on row on row, And wondered about each so still, their badges all on show. What brought them here, what life before Was like for each of them? What made them angry, laugh, or cry, These soldiers, boys and men. Some so young, some older still, a bond more close than brothers These men have earned and shared a love, that's not like any others They trained as one, they fought as one They shared their last together That bond endures, that love is true And will be, now and ever.

I could not know, how could I guess, what choices each had made, Of how they came to soldiering, what part each one had played? But here they are and here they'll stay, Each one silent and in place, Their headstones line up row on row They guard this hallowed place. We honour our old veterans, we honour them with pride and read of all the horrors they have carried deep inside.

Though losses are not classed as great, their fears are just the same those electronic hidden bombs, still injure, kill or maim. They fight against an enemy they find so hard to see who mingle in the market place, then cause much tragedy. Insurgents in Afghanistan hide in the rough terrain or roaming in Iraq , where, wearing robes they look the same.

Now many are returning with the horrors they still see and living with their nightmares, suffering bureaucracy. I know on ANZAC day, we all remember with a tear, but all vets young or old, they need our help throughout the year, support and listen to their stories, when they do get told, lets honour our new veterans, just like we do our old.

Deathly still Helmand Mourning loss Hobnailed by the flagpole With a drooping ensign In a two-minute silence Like three hours on a cross. Numb lips This November And another year As the guns die down In posthumous salute While the note splits In the mouth of momentary fear. Crinkled leaves Float down On their parachute trip With legions of poppies Papered for today As a tear rolls down To a stiff upper lip.

Teeth chatter Feet freeze With winter ahead On count-down to Reveille And the beginning of spring While sheathed swords Honour the glorious dead. Paul du Plessis Life and Soul of the Mess. John Bailey - The Volunteer. John Bailey is a former regular and now serving Territorial Army soldier who served in Afghanistan in Recently a member of his unit, Corporal Steven Boote, was killed along with four others by a rogue Afghan policeman.

He spent the day in Wootton Bassett the day their bodies were repatriated and that night he wrote this poem as a comment on TA service in general but more importantly as a tribute to ''Booty''. They met as strangers but soon became like brothers to the end Smiling at the camera, there could be no truer friends. So many never made it home, lost on foreign shores Many more were injured and would be the same no more. On his chest there is a poppy, a blaze of scarlet on the blue He steps out into the cold, he has a duty he must do Once at the cenotaph he stands amongst the ranks Of those who marched to war and those who manned the tanks, He bows his head in reverence, as the last post begins to play And he wonders what will happen at the ending of his days Will anyone remember?

About the lads so far from home whose life was ended there? Poems of hope and survival The paper dove Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind, Gliding gently over fields And countries torn by war, It has no idea of the fighting below, Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind, Its eyes are heavy, Visions lie heavy in its mind, The poppy fields glide past, Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind, They feel the blasts, The pain, The black mass that engulfs the men, Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind, Children crying for their fathers, After reading letters of loss, The endless sombre parades, Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind, Love lies underneath, Blood red poppies scattered below, The folded feathers float onto the poppy fields.

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind, Launched by a child, off mountains high, Watched by millions, A peace spreader, A hope bringer, Only soft white paper feathers fall in the wind, From The Paper Dove.

Two more poems by Namur King Ode to a snowdrop during wartime Fragile flower, hiding your tender purity In the green shrouds of unborn daffodils; Tentative symbol of the ultimate surety, Of Spring, you bring A waft of beauty to these derelict hills. A sticky, filthy, foul morass, Churned by marching men and wheels endlessly turning; Where once were flowers and trees, soft dew-moist grass And mossy banks - now tanks Trundle noisily through, and the woods are burning.

And yet, I know the vibrant life that lies Deep in defoliated trees, small flower; All of Summer's sweetness soon to rise, The drift, the lift Eternally, now in your loneliest hour.

Clements Dane, and thought of Spring, Of fashionable weddings and decades now done; But smouldering walls and empty aisles were hushed With silence of rebuke for splendour gone; From ruined pews lost echoes seemed to ring With peals of praise, but ravished bells lay crushed. Namur King To top of page Prayer for Remembrance Day For those who were killed in battle, For those who gave up their lives to save others For those who fought because they were forced to, For those who died standing up for a just cause For those who said war was wrong, For those who tried to make the peace For those who prayed when others had no time to pray For those creatures who needlessly die For those trees that needlessly are slaughtered For all of mankind let us quietly pray: May your God hold them in peace May Love flow over the Earth and cleanse us all This day and for always.

Marianne Griffin 11am 11 November To top of page New Year's Eve was approaching and I thought of the dawning of a new century, as Thomas Hardy had done one hundred years earlier. This poem was in part inspired by the first pictures of the earth taken from space.

In the simplest possible terms the poem Making or Breaking sets out the choice before each of us. Making or breaking We inherit the world, the whole of history, our place on earth, our place in time, our fortune, good or bad, pure chance. Now, in one picture, we see our entire planet: Ours for the breaking or making. David Roberts 12 December To top of page Alternative version of the poem entitled There will be no peace. There Will Be Peace There will be peace: There will be peace: Published here by permission of Scott's mother, Mrs Angela Beer.

To top of page A Wish Maybe it is pointless To wish for lasting peace For all mankind to lay down arms For all fighting to cease I could despair of seeing Peace throughout the land No longer hearing talk of war Blood mixed with desert sand We do not have the tolerance For cultures not our own Seeds fly on an ill wind From beds where they are sown Hope lies in a child's heart Not yet turned to stone A mind free of prejudice A child not alone If all children of the world Held each others hand They could do what we could not Make a Brotherhood of Man.

Maxine Kendall Burlington, Ontario, Canada. Maybe we ought to read the words of Chief Seattle on Remembrance Day too, and remember that the living planet itself is under attack, every living thing being linked to each other All nations' God is the same except by name and we all live on the same planet.

We are all brothers and sisters, but we do not understand each other's ways, and this is the problem. Love and be loved. The Fountain of Truth will prevail for a few hours at least today and make people wonder His brothers by his side.

They hold him until they have to bag him and send him home. Tears leave streaks down a dirty face Sorrow and emptiness now takes his place With the utmost care they zip up the big black bag and wrap his body in an American flag. A hero is going home. For you need not so. Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Their blind eyes see not your tears flow. It is easy to be dead. None wears the face you knew.

Great death has made all his for evermore. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath - It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear.

But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, - The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. There are biographical notes on the authors. Out in the Dark includes notes on some of the expressions which may puzzle a modern reader. To top of page Entrenched Trembling down in the trench, thinking of nothing but home, Above I hear a roar, another mine has blown.

There is no turning back, the battle must go on, Nonetheless it seems to me all meaningless and wrong. As if one shot from me, will help the war at all, My task is to 'go o'er the top', to fire and then to fall.

Of course I love my country, but I'm too young to die, Echoing all around I hear the bitter battle cry. I once felt so very proud that I was going to fight, But how can any man have pride, after seeing this harrowing sight.

I long for freedom, and yet more for peace, The day when this endless war will cease. But for now I value every given breath, For the time draws near when I shall meet my certain death. Pippa Moss A poem written when the author was fourteen-years-old. Pippa was not a child soldier. To top of page Personal lo ss in war Ken Tout , a veteran of D Day, a British tank commander, recalls the events of 70 years ago June and offers a new remembrance verse.

I n August a group of us veterans from the Northamptonshire Yeomanry go to Normandy to the site of our most notable tank battle Operation Totalize. We make the normal visits to cemeteries, stand at graves of remembered pals and recite 'They shall grow not old This is particularly poignant for us because we crewed the notorious 'Tommy Cooker' Sherman which often exploded in a volcano of fire and cremated one or other of the crew as they sat, with another crew member emerging bodily on fire.

Due to the pollution of the soil caused by the inferno these places are still discernable. In August at least one son of our regiment will stand where his father came out of his tank on fire and then endured a brief but useless life after discharge.

As I saw the event, joined in destroying the German self-propelled gun and later commanded the replacement tank I have a very personal interest. For our August event I have written a short alternative verse to the traditional one for such tragic spots - Honour them who may have woken to know the battle's grim tomorrow; yet equally whose youth was broken by living death of pain and sorrow: Why did my sons have to die?

O God, keep me upright. Help me not to scream Out their names. What would Joey and Bill have wanted? Jesus, you comforted your mother As she stood and watched you die. If I pray hard enough Will you bring comfort to me?

The people nearby watch her, Wondering how she can stand So still, so calm, Knowing she lost two boys, Thinking she has lost her grief After all these years When to her it might Have been today.

The Memorial Cross is depicted in bronze with the three different cyphers, at three of the four corners of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, unveiled in May Here is the link. To top of page Remembrance Day Remembrance Day. More British soldiers dead In another British war. Yesterday some of their parents In anguish and anger went to Downing Street To lay a wreath To lay the blame At the door Of the man most responsible For our latest war.

But their sons are gone. And Iraq's cities are in ruins. In many thousands Iraq, too, has lost its sons. Their sons are gone, their children maimed. Chaos and trauma are everywhere.

For the shattering of this nation We share the blame. No fine words can give these crimes The slightest gloss.

Such a quantity of grief. Their sons are gone. All loss is one. Let us reflect on Their needless loss. Let us reflect on their needless loss. David Roberts 11 11 To top of page Young Sons. She remembers how his hair felt His soft scent still fills her nose.

And one again she curses, the path her young son chose. Bill Mit t on. To top of page Remem brance poems with a cri tical edge Take a breath David Rivett introduces his song.

Video of David Rivett's remembrance song, Take a Breath. Beneath this earth young warriors sleep Forever more, forever more, And for what myth was it they died, Who sent them here forever? To bury them, so far away From farm and village, hearth and soil? We dare not ask of why or how, We dare not think too hard of them! We need not question of ourselves, Of how we let them go so far, So we may keep our distance safe Can paint their pictures in our mind Of how they sacrificed their lives; Of how they died so willingly, On land that did not give them birth, Noblesse Oblige, they sleep the earth.

We know they did not wail or scream, Nor cry nor piss their pants in fear! We know they did not weep for mother, Nor curse their fate nor bawl in pain, Or seek to find their missing limbs, While dragging stumps through fiery ground, Or smelled their own flesh, burning stench! Nor whimpered soft through blood blind eyes, As whistling breath through gaping throats Shot out their life in scarlet spurts. How could we ever…be so cruel? I went because I was still too young To know any better, though others Cleverly refused or ran away to hide.

I never once dreamed my own government Would ever lie to its own people, But I was mistaken and they did for years. I fought their war in a hell for one year, Then came home and found another hell, Awaiting from the very people and country Who determined I go in the first place Then their war, suddenly became mine, And I was the convenient scapegoat!

Today, I am the broken bodies and minds Shunted off, out of sight, behind heavy doors Of VA hospitals and mental wards to die. I am in wheel chairs and braces, in hospital beds; I walk the streets; I wander the railroad tracks, I sleep beneath the stars.

Link to more poems by Curtis D Bennett. I watch these old men march bereted and badged as I was in years long gone. Though I understand and will honour their need. I will never join them. I need no marching or medals to do honour to comrades dead the metal would lie heavy upon my aging chest. I need no military band. What right have I of medals For I am here, aging still. For as our young soldiers still do.

I have, in scaring grief, carried home, brave men upon their shields. I prayed through my tears that before I died the madness would stop I now know the folly of that prayer, because I now realise that whilst there are young men and women who believe that they are immortal, there will be politicians who will barter and trade the young's misconception without the flicker of an eye.

The eyes betray the pain Hollow, empty eyes A lifetime in one glance Blinking moist with sadness In search of understanding Barely holding back the tear.

Alone, standing to attention A solemn sight for all to view A stubborn look about the face Lips taught with embers of defiance A wry ironic smile A stoic sense of duty. The glorious dead do not grow old The living are but vague reminders Of a soldiers gift and a nations debt A collective shame unwashed in generations Putrid and bitter without a voice Crying out for respect and restitution. Body racked with untold hurt Phantom pain from near useless limbs Age has wearied him And the years condemned The shadow of a once proud man Who took the shilling and paid the price.

Young men, old beyond their years Damaged minds in ravaged bodies Witness to the horrors Victim of the daily struggle Stiffened with age and unseen scars He does not complain, we taught him well. Communities of dead from conflicts past Stand testament to our human failure Leaders give no deference to the fallen Dulce et decorum est…, the oldest lie Loved ones nurse a heavy burden Complicit in their fervour.

Hand picked like poppies of the field Blossoms of the poor and disadvantaged Moulded to be the nations guardians Hailed as saviours in the morning Old heroes slowly fade away Discarded when the sun goes down.

In the autumn of our lives Old soldiers reminisce Amidst the dreams of death and glory Two minutes can seem a lifetime In remembrance of the fallen A fleeting memory remiss. Graham Cordwell, C opyright See Graham Cordwell's personal story and other poems on his page of this website. Background information follows the poem. His area of study is especially modern East Asia Japan and China mainly. My parents immigrated to Canada after the war in , among the many who passed through Pier 21 in Halifax Canada's Ellis Island.

Professionally, I currently have two main research fields: One, examines how Japanese society from the s to the s became increasingly militarized by analyzing the stories written for children in mainstream print media.

The other argues for a reorientation of our systems and tropes of remembrance to include killing and dying on all sides in the hopes of constructing more honest and accurate representations of war as universal tragedy and as a common ground of human inhumanity.

Blue beaches murmur waves Splashing old, rusted war remnants. A sea bird flaps wet beaches Where the sea swells and crashes gently on wet sand, Retreating back erasing all footprints. The men stare the distance, At blurred memories through tears.

Trickling down their cheeks dripping softly, To merge with the sea like before. They came to say good-bye to their friends, To a confused past which has no answers. Marching the stillness in quiet precision Protecting the young soldiers buried there, Frozen in time and death The old veterans stand awkward, unsure with the dead.

Experiencing those familiar, dreaded, sick feelings Of remorse, regret, blame, and fault for what happened To their generation who gave so much for their country. Now time, history, and denial blessedly blur the horror and inhumanity Of what they did; of what was done to them. Turning war into a sound-bite of empty words Of praise, blessing, glory, and accomplishment.

Something to be proud of, to revel in, To relish with sacred, biblical rhetoric From a shallow, self-centered political opportunist. Whose meanings and oratory become quickly lost, His words floating away with the wind, out of relevance, out of touch Out of context, drifting, beyond the restive crowds.

To fall useless and disappear, in the cold, impassionate mud. That is why, all Veterans cry. Young men killed by politicians' words and mindless acts, Their promise and existence forever ended too soon.

I always feel uncomfortable about Remembrance Day services that are held in the centre of London. Partly it is because I believe that the politicians do not really care about the lives they have so needlessly thrown away, and partly it seems that they are using remembrance ceremonies to justify war, to say that the deaths were all in a good cause.

But these days the British government is not using our military to defend the country from an actual attack. Instead it is going overseas and bombing people who are helpless and with a few exceptions, not interested in threatening us. Another thought that struck me was that those who send terrorists to die in suicide attacks may be not that different from the generals of the First World War who sent young men to die in what were often called suicidal attacks.

People will point out that it is the innocent civilians who are targeted by terrorists. But is there really any difference between the innocent civilians and the innocent soldiers of the enemy's side.

We are encouraged to hate the terrorist and praise the soldier, but they are all victims of violence, violence that others encouraged them or others to commit. Why should we remember or celebrate only those who were sent to fight and kill?

I think we should remember all those who give their entire lives to the service and betterment of others. A poem for Remembrance Days For cause or country Young men are sent to die. Young men are sent to kill. In these nauseous and twisted times what eloquent twisted truths gave young men this love of death and on the greatest negative heap the greatest honour?

Young men, equally reviled and honoured for the death they brought or the lives they lost, bring only grief and deserve only pity. David Roberts 17 November To top of page About There will be no peace The following poem was written in in connection with the conflict in Kosovo. In I decided that it was not a good idea to have written the poem in such a negative form, so I re-wrote it as There will be peace.

Readers can choose which version they prefer. The new version may be found in the Poems of hope and survival section. There will be no peace There will be no peace: There will be no peace: David Roberts 22 July To top of page Shall we remember what war is? Shall we remember what war is? In the human psyche it is the fatal flaw, a perversion of the human mind, using our greatest brains to create outrageous threats to all mankind. So shall we honour war? Or shall we remember what war is and give true meaning to "Never again"?

David Roberts 28 September Lessons. Do away with medals Poppies and remembrance parades Those boys were brave, we know But look where it got them. Danny Martin was a soldier. There are more poems by him and information about him on his own page on this website. Click here for more Danny Martin To top of page. Being In Nothingness Do you know the moments? When life turns into nothingness It's when a nation wages a war against another one It's when a child dies of hunger in Africa And co called activists talk about animal rights!

It's when humans kill each other In the name of God! Against the very spirit of their own religions! It's when injustice and discrimination prevail Based on skin colour and beliefs! It's when masses are hoodwinked By the propaganda machinery of their own elected Masters It's when your beloved ones set off To an endless voyage and invincible destination And you can not help it! Arbab Sikandar Gondal Copyright To top of page A Sol dier's Face The words of a song.

I write folk music mainly focused on social issues. I am fifteen years old. A year ago, I visited Auschwitz with a group of friends from England and some that we had met in Germany through the Cross of Nails charity. I was inspired to write a poem reflecting my views on the Holocaust and this is from a Jewish perspective.

Packed to go, our lives in a suitcase. Forced on a train, sardines in a tin. We'll be there soon, they told us. Half of us dead, most of us dying.

We arrived, our lives thrust into Nazi fists. Families separated, people alone. You'll see them again, they told us. They picked us out, worthy from useless. Was this just a sick game? Who were they to say? Who were they to judge? It'll be over in a while, they told us.

Fear for our lives. People left and never came back. Our backs broken, our bodies broken, our hearts broken. No bravery in our eyes anymore. Sore from weeping, sore from sleeping. You are all bad Jews, they told us.

I am God's child, I told them. I am a light in the darkness, I told them It's just a shower, they told me. This is a sacred trust. Because part of ending a war responsibly is standing by those who have fought it. Shepherd I found out that not only was the light off, But it was also broken. No money for kerosene. No money for nothin'. Built my house out of grease cans in the middle of the dump with the grazing sheep and burning garbage. I only eat rice and corn chips. It's all I can afford.

I look around for useful things that other people have thrown away. I build and make use. It used to stink here and everywhere but now I hardly notice.

I long for the once peaceful country under iron fisted security. Nothin' but cigarettes and death these days. Sometimes when it's real hot I can smell the bodies cooking under the trash piles. I wonder who they are. Who did they love? In the winter the floor turns to mud and it's frigid. My kids are skinny. My wife is dying. I need help, but there is no humanity within a thousand miles of here. Sometimes thieves come at night and steal my chickens. Sometimes it seems like our god never loved any of us at all.

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The practice of decorating soldiers' graves with flowers is an ancient custom. Some believe that an annual cemetery decoration practice began before the American Civil War and thus may reflect the real origin of the "memorial day" idea. In cases involving a family graveyard where remote ancestors as well as those who were deceased more recently are buried, this may take on the character of an extended family reunion to which some people travel hundreds of miles.

People gather, put flowers on graves and renew contacts with relatives and others. There often is a religious service and a picnic-like "dinner on the grounds," the traditional term for a potluck meal at a church. On June 3, , Warrenton, Virginia was the location of the first Civil War soldier's grave ever to be decorated, according to a Richmond Times-Dispatch newspaper article in On July 4, , ladies decorated soldiers' graves according to local historians in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania.

In April , following President Abraham Lincoln's assassination , commemorations were ubiquitous. The more than , soldiers of both sides who died in the Civil War meant that burial and memorialization took on new cultural significance. Under the leadership of women during the war, an increasingly formal practice of decorating graves had taken shape. In , the federal government began creating national military cemeteries for the Union war dead. In , Blight stated that he "has no evidence" that the event in Charleston inspired the establishment of Memorial Day across the country.

In , General John A. Logan of the Grand Army of the Republic , an organization of Union veterans founded in Decatur, Illinois , established Decoration Day as a time for the nation to decorate the graves of the Union war dead with flowers. On May 26, , President Lyndon B. Johnson designated an "official" birthplace of the holiday by signing the presidential proclamation naming Waterloo, New York , as the holder of the title. This action followed House Concurrent Resolution , in which the 89th Congress had officially recognized that the patriotic tradition of observing Memorial Day had begun one hundred years prior in Waterloo, New York.

Welles and county clerk John B. Murray as the founders of the holiday. Snopes and Live Science discredit the Waterloo account. On May 5, , General John A. Logan issued a proclamation calling for "Decoration Day" to be observed annually and nationwide; he was commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic , the veterans' organization for Union Civil War veterans.

The first northern Memorial Day was observed on May 30, One author claims that the date was chosen because it was not the anniversary of any particular battle. The northern states quickly adopted the holiday. In , memorial events were held in cemeteries in 27 states, and in By , the remains of nearly , Union dead had been reinterred in 73 national cemeteries, located near major battlefields and thus mainly in the South.

Memorial Day speeches became an occasion for veterans, politicians, and ministers to commemorate the Civil War and, at first, to rehash the "atrocities" of the enemy. They mixed religion and celebratory nationalism for the people to make sense of their history in terms of sacrifice for a better nation. People of all religious beliefs joined together and the point was often made that the German and Irish soldiers had become true Americans in the "baptism of blood" on the battlefield. Since Doylestown, Pennsylvania has run annual Memorial Day parades which it claims to be the nation's oldest continuously running; however, the Memorial Day parade in Rochester, Wisconsin predates Doylestown's by one year.

National Park Service [30] and numerous scholars attribute the beginning of a Memorial Day practice in the South to the ladies of Columbus, Georgia. Historians acknowledge the Ladies Memorial Association played a key role in these rituals of preservation of Confederate "memory. Across the South, associations were founded, many by women, to establish and care for permanent cemeteries for the Confederate dead, organize commemorative ceremonies, and sponsor appropriate monuments as a permanent way of remembering the Confederate dead.

The most important of these was the United Daughters of the Confederacy , which grew from 17, members in to nearly , women by World War I. They were "strikingly successful at raising money to build Confederate monuments, lobbying legislatures and Congress for the reburial of Confederate dead, and working to shape the content of history textbooks.

In , some southerners appended the label "Confederate" to what they originally called "Memorial Day" after northerners co-opted the holiday.

By , there was a shift from the emphasis on honoring specific soldiers to a public commemoration of the Confederate south. By , David Blight argues, the theme of American nationalism shared equal time with the Confederate. Starting in , the ceremonies and Memorial Day address at Gettysburg National Park became nationally known. In July , veterans of the United States and Confederate armies gathered in Gettysburg to commemorate the fifty-year anniversary of the Civil War's bloodiest and most famous battle.

The four-day "Blue-Gray Reunion" featured parades, re-enactments, and speeches from a host of dignitaries, including President Woodrow Wilson , the first Southerner elected to the White House after the War. Since the cemetery dedication at Gettysburg occurred on November 19, that day or the closest weekend has been designated as their own local memorial day that is referred to as Remembrance Day.

The preferred name for the holiday gradually changed from "Decoration Day" to "Memorial Day," which was first used in The law took effect at the federal level in Memorial Day endures as a holiday which most businesses observe because it marks the unofficial beginning of summer. Changing the date merely to create three-day weekends has undermined the very meaning of the day. No doubt, this has contributed a lot to the general public's nonchalant observance of Memorial Day.

Inouye continued introducing the resolution until his death in On Memorial Day, the flag of the United States is raised briskly to the top of the staff and then solemnly lowered to the half-staff position, where it remains only until noon.

The half-staff position remembers the more than one million men and women who gave their lives in service of their country.

At noon, their memory is raised by the living, who resolve not to let their sacrifice be in vain, but to rise up in their stead and continue the fight for liberty and justice for all. The National Memorial Day Concert takes place [ when? Music is performed, and respect is paid to the men and women who gave their lives for their country.

For many Americans, the central event is attending one of the thousands of parades held on Memorial Day in large and small cities all over the country. One of the longest-standing traditions is the running of the Indianapolis , an auto race which has been held in conjunction with Memorial Day since In , Congress passed the National Moment of Remembrance Act, asking people to stop and remember at 3: Its opening lines refer to the fields of poppies that grew among the soldiers' graves in Flanders.

In , the National American Legion adopted it as their official symbol of remembrance. Scholars, [58] [59] [60] [61] following the lead of sociologist Robert Bellah , often make the argument that the United States has a secular " civil religion " — one with no association with any religious denomination or viewpoint — that has incorporated Memorial Day as a sacred event. With the Civil War, a new theme of death, sacrifice and rebirth enters the civil religion.

Memorial Day gave ritual expression to these themes, integrating the local community into a sense of nationalism. The American civil religion, in contrast to that of France, was never anticlerical or militantly secular; in contrast to Britain, it was not tied to a specific denomination, such as the Church of England.

The Americans borrowed from different religious traditions so that the average American saw no conflict between the two, and deep levels of personal motivation were aligned with attaining national goals. Memorial Day has been called a "modern cult of the dead ". It incorporates Christian themes of sacrifice while uniting citizens of various faiths. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. For other uses, see Memorial Day disambiguation.

For other uses, see Decoration Day disambiguation. The gravestones at Arlington National Cemetery are decorated by U. Military of the United States portal Holidays portal. United States Department of Veterans Affairs. He was raised by a sister and a hard working mom. He was raised to love his country, and every time he saw the flag. He thought of his father, and how he gave all that he had Someone's child, left long ago, A strange land, Someone's foe. Vietnam War Setting off to Vietnam Feeling proud, feeling strong I was totally moved by this poem I married August 28, and my 1st husband of 4 months left for Vietnam December 26, which was my last time I saw him.

I became a widow on To all of our veterans Far and near, We thank you for your service For all those years. Happened today, and in the past; Sacrifice made, for ours to last. Wives to widows, families torn; In a bush, in a jungle, a man child hides Hoping not to die To his mother he cries Quiet and still he lies Somewhere out there today, In a land far, far away.

A soldier rides patrol, Knowing not what may unfold Remember those who served before. Remember those who are no more. Remember those who serve today. Remember them as we eat and play What do I hear? What do I see?

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Retrieved May 28, What you need to know". Retrieved May 31, Retrieved April 7, Decoration Day in the Mountains: Traditions of Cemetery Decoration in the Southern Appalachians. Univ of North Carolina Press. A History of the th Pennsylvania Vols. Gallagher June 1, Wars Within a War: To Appomattox and Beyond: Retrieved May 27, Memorial Day Origins Snopes. The Folklore of American holidays.

After the Civil War, search and recovery teams visited hundreds of battlefields, churchyards, plantations and other locations seeking wartime interments that were made in haste. By , the remains of nearly , Civil War dead were reinterred in 73 national cemeteries.

Becoming American Under Fire: Retrieved May 25, Retrieved June 1, That Depends Where You're From". The New York Times. Little known Mississippi Facts". America, history and life. The Civil War in American Memory. History Museums in the United States: University of Illinois Press. LaFantasie March 1, Perfect Soldiers, Hallowed Ground. Goddard's Accounts of Civil War and Peace. Univ of South Carolina Press. Miracle at Belleau Wood: The Birth of the Modern U.

Emily Post's Etiquette, Carnahan May 1, Outdoor Escapes Washington, D. The Desire Wilson Story. Retrieved June 2, Retrieved February 18, Swatos; Peter Kivisto Encyclopedia of Religion and Society. From Civil to Political Religion: The Intersection of Culture, Religion and Politics. Bellah, "Civil Religion in America", Daedalus 96 1: Daedalus 96 1: The Civil War in American Memory ch.

The Road to Reunion, — Cherry, Conrad. Red, White, and Blue Letter Days: Chapter 24 in Celebrations: And this poem describes Tyler James was just a baby when his daddy died in Nam. He was raised by a sister and a hard working mom. He was raised to love his country, and every time he saw the flag. He thought of his father, and how he gave all that he had Someone's child, left long ago, A strange land, Someone's foe.

Vietnam War Setting off to Vietnam Feeling proud, feeling strong I was totally moved by this poem I married August 28, and my 1st husband of 4 months left for Vietnam December 26, which was my last time I saw him. I became a widow on To all of our veterans Far and near, We thank you for your service For all those years. Happened today, and in the past; Sacrifice made, for ours to last. Wives to widows, families torn; Their sons are gone.

All loss is one. Let us reflect on Their needless loss. Let us reflect on their needless loss. David Roberts 11 11 To top of page Young Sons. She remembers how his hair felt His soft scent still fills her nose. And one again she curses, the path her young son chose.

Bill Mit t on. To top of page Remem brance poems with a cri tical edge Take a breath David Rivett introduces his song. Video of David Rivett's remembrance song, Take a Breath. Beneath this earth young warriors sleep Forever more, forever more, And for what myth was it they died, Who sent them here forever? To bury them, so far away From farm and village, hearth and soil? We dare not ask of why or how, We dare not think too hard of them! We need not question of ourselves, Of how we let them go so far, So we may keep our distance safe Can paint their pictures in our mind Of how they sacrificed their lives; Of how they died so willingly, On land that did not give them birth, Noblesse Oblige, they sleep the earth.

We know they did not wail or scream, Nor cry nor piss their pants in fear! We know they did not weep for mother, Nor curse their fate nor bawl in pain, Or seek to find their missing limbs, While dragging stumps through fiery ground, Or smelled their own flesh, burning stench!

Nor whimpered soft through blood blind eyes, As whistling breath through gaping throats Shot out their life in scarlet spurts. How could we ever…be so cruel? I went because I was still too young To know any better, though others Cleverly refused or ran away to hide.

I never once dreamed my own government Would ever lie to its own people, But I was mistaken and they did for years. I fought their war in a hell for one year, Then came home and found another hell, Awaiting from the very people and country Who determined I go in the first place Then their war, suddenly became mine, And I was the convenient scapegoat!

Today, I am the broken bodies and minds Shunted off, out of sight, behind heavy doors Of VA hospitals and mental wards to die. I am in wheel chairs and braces, in hospital beds; I walk the streets; I wander the railroad tracks, I sleep beneath the stars. Link to more poems by Curtis D Bennett. I watch these old men march bereted and badged as I was in years long gone.

Though I understand and will honour their need. I will never join them. I need no marching or medals to do honour to comrades dead the metal would lie heavy upon my aging chest. I need no military band. What right have I of medals For I am here, aging still.

For as our young soldiers still do. I have, in scaring grief, carried home, brave men upon their shields. I prayed through my tears that before I died the madness would stop I now know the folly of that prayer, because I now realise that whilst there are young men and women who believe that they are immortal, there will be politicians who will barter and trade the young's misconception without the flicker of an eye.

The eyes betray the pain Hollow, empty eyes A lifetime in one glance Blinking moist with sadness In search of understanding Barely holding back the tear. Alone, standing to attention A solemn sight for all to view A stubborn look about the face Lips taught with embers of defiance A wry ironic smile A stoic sense of duty.

The glorious dead do not grow old The living are but vague reminders Of a soldiers gift and a nations debt A collective shame unwashed in generations Putrid and bitter without a voice Crying out for respect and restitution. Body racked with untold hurt Phantom pain from near useless limbs Age has wearied him And the years condemned The shadow of a once proud man Who took the shilling and paid the price. Young men, old beyond their years Damaged minds in ravaged bodies Witness to the horrors Victim of the daily struggle Stiffened with age and unseen scars He does not complain, we taught him well.

Communities of dead from conflicts past Stand testament to our human failure Leaders give no deference to the fallen Dulce et decorum est…, the oldest lie Loved ones nurse a heavy burden Complicit in their fervour. Hand picked like poppies of the field Blossoms of the poor and disadvantaged Moulded to be the nations guardians Hailed as saviours in the morning Old heroes slowly fade away Discarded when the sun goes down. In the autumn of our lives Old soldiers reminisce Amidst the dreams of death and glory Two minutes can seem a lifetime In remembrance of the fallen A fleeting memory remiss.

Graham Cordwell, C opyright See Graham Cordwell's personal story and other poems on his page of this website. Background information follows the poem. His area of study is especially modern East Asia Japan and China mainly. My parents immigrated to Canada after the war in , among the many who passed through Pier 21 in Halifax Canada's Ellis Island.

Professionally, I currently have two main research fields: One, examines how Japanese society from the s to the s became increasingly militarized by analyzing the stories written for children in mainstream print media. The other argues for a reorientation of our systems and tropes of remembrance to include killing and dying on all sides in the hopes of constructing more honest and accurate representations of war as universal tragedy and as a common ground of human inhumanity.

Blue beaches murmur waves Splashing old, rusted war remnants. A sea bird flaps wet beaches Where the sea swells and crashes gently on wet sand, Retreating back erasing all footprints. The men stare the distance, At blurred memories through tears. Trickling down their cheeks dripping softly, To merge with the sea like before. They came to say good-bye to their friends, To a confused past which has no answers. Marching the stillness in quiet precision Protecting the young soldiers buried there, Frozen in time and death The old veterans stand awkward, unsure with the dead.

Experiencing those familiar, dreaded, sick feelings Of remorse, regret, blame, and fault for what happened To their generation who gave so much for their country. Now time, history, and denial blessedly blur the horror and inhumanity Of what they did; of what was done to them.

Turning war into a sound-bite of empty words Of praise, blessing, glory, and accomplishment. Something to be proud of, to revel in, To relish with sacred, biblical rhetoric From a shallow, self-centered political opportunist. Whose meanings and oratory become quickly lost, His words floating away with the wind, out of relevance, out of touch Out of context, drifting, beyond the restive crowds. To fall useless and disappear, in the cold, impassionate mud. That is why, all Veterans cry.

Young men killed by politicians' words and mindless acts, Their promise and existence forever ended too soon. I always feel uncomfortable about Remembrance Day services that are held in the centre of London.

Partly it is because I believe that the politicians do not really care about the lives they have so needlessly thrown away, and partly it seems that they are using remembrance ceremonies to justify war, to say that the deaths were all in a good cause.

But these days the British government is not using our military to defend the country from an actual attack. Instead it is going overseas and bombing people who are helpless and with a few exceptions, not interested in threatening us. Another thought that struck me was that those who send terrorists to die in suicide attacks may be not that different from the generals of the First World War who sent young men to die in what were often called suicidal attacks.

People will point out that it is the innocent civilians who are targeted by terrorists. But is there really any difference between the innocent civilians and the innocent soldiers of the enemy's side. We are encouraged to hate the terrorist and praise the soldier, but they are all victims of violence, violence that others encouraged them or others to commit.

Why should we remember or celebrate only those who were sent to fight and kill? I think we should remember all those who give their entire lives to the service and betterment of others. A poem for Remembrance Days For cause or country Young men are sent to die. Young men are sent to kill. In these nauseous and twisted times what eloquent twisted truths gave young men this love of death and on the greatest negative heap the greatest honour?

Young men, equally reviled and honoured for the death they brought or the lives they lost, bring only grief and deserve only pity. David Roberts 17 November To top of page About There will be no peace The following poem was written in in connection with the conflict in Kosovo.

In I decided that it was not a good idea to have written the poem in such a negative form, so I re-wrote it as There will be peace. Readers can choose which version they prefer. The new version may be found in the Poems of hope and survival section.

There will be no peace There will be no peace: There will be no peace: David Roberts 22 July To top of page Shall we remember what war is? Shall we remember what war is? In the human psyche it is the fatal flaw, a perversion of the human mind, using our greatest brains to create outrageous threats to all mankind.

So shall we honour war? Or shall we remember what war is and give true meaning to "Never again"? David Roberts 28 September Lessons. Do away with medals Poppies and remembrance parades Those boys were brave, we know But look where it got them.

Danny Martin was a soldier. There are more poems by him and information about him on his own page on this website.

Click here for more Danny Martin To top of page. Being In Nothingness Do you know the moments? When life turns into nothingness It's when a nation wages a war against another one It's when a child dies of hunger in Africa And co called activists talk about animal rights!

It's when humans kill each other In the name of God! Against the very spirit of their own religions! It's when injustice and discrimination prevail Based on skin colour and beliefs! It's when masses are hoodwinked By the propaganda machinery of their own elected Masters It's when your beloved ones set off To an endless voyage and invincible destination And you can not help it!

Arbab Sikandar Gondal Copyright To top of page A Sol dier's Face The words of a song. I write folk music mainly focused on social issues. I am fifteen years old. A year ago, I visited Auschwitz with a group of friends from England and some that we had met in Germany through the Cross of Nails charity.

I was inspired to write a poem reflecting my views on the Holocaust and this is from a Jewish perspective. Packed to go, our lives in a suitcase. Forced on a train, sardines in a tin. We'll be there soon, they told us. Half of us dead, most of us dying. We arrived, our lives thrust into Nazi fists. Families separated, people alone.

You'll see them again, they told us. They picked us out, worthy from useless. Was this just a sick game? Who were they to say? Who were they to judge? It'll be over in a while, they told us. Fear for our lives. People left and never came back. Our backs broken, our bodies broken, our hearts broken. No bravery in our eyes anymore.

Sore from weeping, sore from sleeping. You are all bad Jews, they told us. I am God's child, I told them. I am a light in the darkness, I told them It's just a shower, they told me. This is a sacred trust. Because part of ending a war responsibly is standing by those who have fought it. Shepherd I found out that not only was the light off, But it was also broken. No money for kerosene. No money for nothin'. Built my house out of grease cans in the middle of the dump with the grazing sheep and burning garbage.

I only eat rice and corn chips. It's all I can afford. I look around for useful things that other people have thrown away. I build and make use. It used to stink here and everywhere but now I hardly notice. I long for the once peaceful country under iron fisted security.

Nothin' but cigarettes and death these days. Sometimes when it's real hot I can smell the bodies cooking under the trash piles. I wonder who they are. Who did they love? In the winter the floor turns to mud and it's frigid. My kids are skinny. My wife is dying. I need help, but there is no humanity within a thousand miles of here. Sometimes thieves come at night and steal my chickens. Sometimes it seems like our god never loved any of us at all.

Maybe he eats pain like a Sunday snack. Maybe he keeps all the good feelings for himself. Or Maybe somewhere in heaven there is a clean little pond with birds and fish and sheep that reflects a healthier happier me; with long black hair and a full beard and deep brown eyes that smile in eternity.

Little, smiling children in the river, Where we wash our clothes, Where the sewage flows and their little ribs stick out, Hugging tuberculosis lungs all black from breathing the fire from the tires.

We would appreciate news of such events. Authors, in my experience, never refuse permission and never ask for payment. Please contact me if you wish to send a message or request to an author. My own poems may be used for any non-commercial use without consulting me though an acknowledgement of the author is requested where this is feasible for example in non-commercial publications. Mentions of this website are also welcome.

The three poems on this page by Charles Sorley, Wilfred Owen and Alan Seeger are out of copyright, which means that they may be used for any purpose without permission. David Roberts, Editor, www. Think of the bloodshed. Think of the tens of thousands of Turkish dead. And then listen to the inscription to our boys and those from Commonwealth countries that fell.

Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side in this country of ours. You, the mothers who sent their sons from far away countries wipe away your tears, your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they become our sons as well.

That from such war and hatred can come unity and peace. A confidence and determination never to go back. However frustrating and however difficult the debates in Europe, years on we sort out our differences through dialogue at meetings around conference tables… …not through the battle on the fields of Flanders or the frozen lakes of Western Russia.

To honour those who served. NewsNight feature on "abandoned" soldiers, This video has somehow been disabled from playing on this website. If you copy this URL into your address bar you may be able to see it. Remembrance Poems and Readings - Invaluable for all who are preparing remembrance and memorial events or meetings or meditations reflecting on matters of war and peace. Published by Saxon Books.

Anthony Devanny The men I marched beside [A tribute to lost comrades. Each is sleeping in his blanket hearing not the bugle blow. Tread you lightly, young Tunisian, past the men I used to know. Other comrades see not Etna in that isle across the sea, for in the cornfields of Catania lie the men of Forty-Three. And the Lower Rhine at Arnhem flows past many that I knew. They lie their undefeated, Oaken-hearted, arrow true.

Parachutes are long discarded on that silent dropping zone as the line of march goes onward through Bruneval and Beaune. I am hearing dead feet marching on the road to Oosterbeek. I hear again the roll call but the called-for do not speak. They come crowding in around me those faces of the bold, and my strength and resolution are fortified untold. This is his introduction to his poem.

Tony Church Tony Church's military background "I ended my 12 years of military service on my return from Aden in The dates they died below the names tell of wars now past and gone Passchendaele, the Somme, and Mons of battles fought, and lost or won. History remembers, as it should these men who fought and died Whilst for their families left behind a dull sorrow tinged with pride. The faces of boys held now in Sepia who died in days long gone yet living on in memories and hearts, still holding on.

Yet despite the hurt and grief here what with horror makes me fill Is that when I look behind me there are more new crosses growing still. To top of page Life and Soul of the Mess " Life and Soul of the Mess is a comment on how lost comrades are remembered and live on within their units long after they are gone, particularly whenever soldiers gather together in their bar or mess.

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Veterans Day & Remembrance Day