Posts Tagged ‘ War ’


The soldier stands sentry over the poppies.

Are the residents just part of a smug-faced crowd?
And this lion watches over the dead with no grave and the dying day.
The Lion watches over the dead with no grave.

The harsh sea which has taken so many lives and, yet, is reborn itself everyday.

Just my little project in honour of Remembrance Sunday and every single service person who has ever given any part of their life to the defence and protection of freedom and this country. All titles are taken from poems recently posted here in honour of the day and can be found at my flickr account. For more information on the Portsmouth Naval Memorial, see the Memorials and Monuments in Portsmouth Site.

Thank you,

~ Persephone M


In Remembrance…

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields 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 faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Another poem to be dedicated to Remebering the Great War and possibly the most poignant reason to remember: If ye break faith with us who die/We shall not sleep. For information on John McCrae, see the wikipedia page.

Remember. Always.

~ PersephoneM

In Remembrance…

Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like of 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 sonic 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 talk with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Another war poem in honour of the month of November. This one by Wilfred Owen. The final two lines translate as “It is sweet and right to die for your country”.

See also the wikipedia entry on him.


~ Persephone M

In Remembrance

Suicide in the Trenches – Siegfried Sassoon.

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet in his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Normally I only post poetry I’ve written myself. In honour of November a poem I really enjoyed and remember from my A-level English the other year.

Love and respect,

~ Persephone M