Your Remembrance poems

This page awaits reader poems and comments.

It is now easy to add poems and comments to this website about loss and suffering in the wars of today and recent years. Simply click on  ”Leave a reply” (the last option on this page). This will take you to a simple registration  and then you can write (or paste prepared material) ready for this page. You will be able to make changes and corrections before “submitting” your text directly to this page. Your words will then appear on the page for all to read.

If you encounter any problems with this process please contact me (details on the contact page – link on the home page  -   of the war poetry website) and put the word PROBLEM in the subject box. Then describe the difficulty briefly.

David Roberts, Editor.

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  31. As I drive my daughter to school, I pass Napier University formerly Craiglockhart War Hospital, which sits overlooking Edinburgh and the Firth of Forth.
    Here Dr Rivers treated Sassoon and Owen for “shell-shock” pioneering “talking therapy” for post-traumatic stress. Redford Barracks, home to the 3rd Battalion, The Rifles is nearby just as it was during the First World War.
    “Education” is a commemorative poem written for the 100th anniversary of the First World War. The language is deliberately brief to convey the difficulty and the natural unwillingness of soldiers to burden civilians with the horror of war.
    In the final paragraph “Those” is given a single line to create a pause, a moment of silence in which to remember.

    I pass you every day, standing proud,
    From your vantage point on the ridge,
    You survey the wide vista below,
    Watching the movements of the world.

    Yet we know you stand sentinel,
    Not to glory and its’ false aims,
    But to truth and compassion,
    For all humanity.

    Through your doors they came,
    Physically injured,
    Bearing, deeper wounds within.

    Seared memories,
    Screamed silently,
    Barely audible,
    Politically unspeakable.

    Till gentle methods,
    Brought forth a flow,
    So all could learn.

    Whilst elsewhere,
    Current harshly applied,
    Bringing result without meaning.

    Paces away the military continues to train,
    But your doors still open to Youth,
    With ambition to fulfill,
    As they did not.

    As the new generation prepare for life,
    We will remember
    Who have gone before.

  32. A poem for Sunday

  33. This poem was written by my dad on a recent trip to Belgium and France, on the eve of taking his daughters to the Somme, the place of such connection to him and in truth to us all I’m sure.


    As day breaks through wind and rain
    we form a line on rough terrain,
    To face a foe we’ll never know
    we will fall and die where poppies now grow.

    Remember us the chosen ones
    The lads, the dad’s and someone’s sons,
    be not sad, just be glad,
    Knowing we gave all we had.

    As you walk in our fields of doom,
    places where our bodies were strewn,
    we will gaze on you through heavens door,
    and hope our words stay for evermore.

    When you leave save a tear,
    For here we stay year on year
    The lads, the dad’s and someone’s sons,
    The boys who fell before German guns.

    Poem by Dave Callaghan 2014

  34. These words came to me in response to travelling through Normandy on holiday and seeing the war cemetaries and visiting some of the war graves.

    Rest in Peace
    In uniform row, upon uniform row, upon uniform row
    The pure white crosses stand to attention
    in the verdant French countryside.

    Their very uniformity belies the turmoil of the battlefield
    From whence the broken bodies were herein laid to rest.

    With love, respect and gratitude we recognise their sacrifice.

  35. These words came to me whilst watching the d-day celebrations earlier this year. My parents liked it so much that on a recent battlefields tour they left a copy in every cemetery. I hope you like it

    Rise up rise up my lucky lads,
    Stand to from your slumber
    Blessed you are this summer morn
    To be counted in this number
    And if you should fall and your soul should pass,
    Like the flickering of an ember
    I promise you this,
    We shall never forget…
    …We shall always remember

  36. As the centenary of Britain’s entry into the First World War draw ever closer (and with it millions of colonial troops who fought and died alongside the British) I thought I would write this.

    August 4 1914

    It was the summer – August 4
    When England joined the First World War
    1914 the very year
    Before wives and children shed their bitter tears

    ‘The war to end wars’ was the battle cry
    Before there had been one widow’s sigh
    The men lined up by the score
    To enlist, sacrifice themselves to this bitter war

    Friends and families made their mark
    Pals regiments were formed in town and park
    From factories, clubs, offices and farms
    They became privates, sergeants, men at arms

    And off they went through the streets
    Not knowing that they were cannon meat
    Cheered and applauded as they marched
    Toward war’s verdant fields not yet parched

    “It’ll be over by Christmas” came the call
    “Get over there one and all”
    No one of them, home or abroad
    Had ever heard of “Total War”

    Posters beckoned from every wall
    Poets wrote of war’s enthrall
    Songs and stories came thick and fast
    Glorifying war and our heroic past

    But very soon came the acrid truth
    Millions dead – “Anthem of Doomed Youth”
    Trial by ordeal and fire and zeal
    A generation gone through war’s sharp steel

    The sombre, bitter, vile death-calls
    Quickly killed the tunes of the music halls
    Wounded, dead, disfigured men
    Many mutilated beyond any ken

    At the end it was all for naught
    That senseless carnage in each battle fought
    Kings deposed and Empires lost
    But the worst thing was the human cost

    One hundred years to this very day
    Like then we shake our heads and say
    Still in wars our sons and daughters die
    To all that is holy, why? oh why?

  37. I wrote this last November (2013). I do not know where the words came from but they engulfed me. I am not from a military background, but my eldest son had recently returned from a year in civil war torn Libya, where he had worked in an embassy. This poem is a mark of respect for all those fallen, active and still to see service; past and present.

    Eleven, Eleven, Eleven

    Eleven, eleven, eleven, again
    Tormented souls up in heaven
    1918 – How time’s rolled on
    With a whole generation gone.

    The eleventh hour of the eleventh day
    Of the eleventh month each year people stay
    2 minutes stopped from activity
    Stand still and silent for all to see

    Respect given to the long-dead, missing, fallen
    In needless wars of attrition
    Yet worldwide wars still rage on
    Today our troops and civvies fall upon

    Foreign soil and foreign lands
    Killed and maimed by foreign hands
    Their unselfish acts never cease
    In helping bring this world to peace

    Some youth look on with empty eyes
    Cannot understand people’s sighs
    Don’t want to know what they can’t see
    At things that happened in history

    The years roll on – but things don’t change
    Respect for these heroes is not strange
    These people battle universal strife
    Willingly lay down their life

    We hear Kipling’s words “Lest we Forget”
    But do we understand our eternal debt?
    No greater love is more than this
    They give their lives for our own bliss

    Rest well you battle weary souls
    Whose souls and lives will ne’er grow old
    Rejoice each year again and again
    That your sacrifice was not in vain

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  39. REMEMBER. whosoever sees a poppy grow, among the wheat so green. think of me, cut down too soon. I never had my golden years, think what might have lover or children on my knee. no smiles , no tears or growing old in peace and harmony. some foreign field my resting place, beneath that alien soil.Use this silence. I lost my years to gain this day. I had no harvest for my toil. remember. .

  40. Ramps fell sand-ward,
    Muffled thuds of metal.
    We arrived; Sword,
    I remember through this red petal.

    Nein nein nein,
    We cannot let our gold sand fly.
    Soldiers pray to the divine,
    And share their humble and despaired goodbyes.

    A salty smell mixed with cordite,
    My wife’s nail polish somehow.
    The sun on my face is bright,
    Yet it does not brighten me up now.

    Falling forward, face in the mud,
    A taste I would never expect.
    Mein Gott the blood,
    An irony taste, but at least I have the trench to protect.

    These two men,
    I can smell their despair.
    When I return to this place again,
    What I see I shall not share.

  41. As I sit at home in my kitchen
    I remember the things, I have seen.
    The war, the death, the destruction
    The memories creep back in.

    To Utah, Gold and Sword
    Omaha and Juno
    Time for Operation Overlord
    As the memories creep back in.

    The toxic waft of explosions
    The lurid taste of mud
    The deafening sound of guns
    The memories creep back in

    Bodies scattered everywhere
    Large lakes of blood
    The taste of salt in the air
    The memories creep back in

    The ringing sound of propellers in my ears
    Mud and rocks sprayed all around
    The smell of blood stricken tears
    The memories creep back in

    The men who fell bravely
    To keep the enemy away
    The 70th Anniversary
    Of D-Day

  42. The sea was a tempestuous dog, I go to join her in heaven,
    His fur more ragged and raised, The sand looks gold,
    The deck was more like bog, I will miss my son, who’s eleven,
    Our captain was not praised, Seeing comrades I wish I was bold,
    Nor could we wish the time away. But I will still fall.

    We move from grave to grave, Algid is my blood,
    Some may hold their heads high, From the hole in my chest,
    But it is difficult to be brave, The tears come in a flood,
    Mainly I try to suppress a sigh, I tried to do my best,
    For I am to sailing to a trap. To serve my country.

    I try not to remember, Bob over there fights still,
    To try to not feel pain, I watch him thickly,
    Mother died only in December, He’s not afraid to kill,
    In the silence of the rain, The end approached quickly,
    Before the bomb exploded. But it didn’t come.

    By Laura K Age 12

  43. D-Day

    The waves of a looming death
    Ride upon the shore,
    The inevitable fate
    Weighs heavily on the shoulders of simple men.

    What appears to be endless tide of men,
    Pales next to the vast dust of mankind.
    Their life seems so significant,
    Yet so desolate in the grinning face of war.

    Sword Beach with its savage dunes of death,
    Stabbing at the innocent,
    Who strive only to stay on this Earth,
    For one day more.

    The smell of sanguine iron overpowers,
    Rivers of blood wash away their soul,
    Sweet and right to die for your country? Yes.
    They shall be enthroned in eternal celestial valour.

    Mutated figures, friends, comrades,
    Become just another fallen warrior,
    Gunshots are muted through the irate haze,
    Death does not deter him from his irrepressible task.

    Operation Overlord is now a memory, distant,
    The beaches still tainted with the demise of mortals,
    The blood of fallen soldiers lost in a bitter memory on the shingles.
    But we will remember them.

  44. The sombre massacre,
    was considered a vict’ry?
    The sand, a crimson,
    Will they be remembered?

    Picked off, left for dead,
    Victory, or catastrophe?
    The water, a scarlet,
    Will they be remembered?

    Was there a victory,
    With that loss?
    The front line, a vermilion,
    Will they be remembered?

    Is such a loss,
    A turning point?
    The grass, a ruby,
    Will they be remembered?

    Salted mud, red,
    Is there no consequences?
    The sea shells, a rouge,
    Will they be forgotten?

  45. We Remember
    We do remember, red paper badges, green paper leaves, polished pins
    We do remember, marches, wars recalled, medals worn, ancient sins
    We remember death and question why we must remember
    The blunders, the blood, the bastard generals each November
    Fodder fools, on France’s fields
    Brave men with paper shields
    We remember with silence, bugles, wreathe of red
    We remember living because of the dead
    We remember forefather’s follies with the flags we wave
    We remember our fear as we remember the brave
    We remember the fallen the graves they fill
    We remember them now and we always will

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