The Prestige Of The Poppy
Behold my form, my humble guise, my fragile fashioned grace.
Look deep within the giver’s eyes, some noble hopes to trace.
November’s here and folks look back to what heroes have bought.
They stood as one as things looked black, courageous as they fought.
Not all survived the grief-filled times. Not all returned scot-free.
Not all were able to pen rhymes of utmost misery.
I’m just a poppy, nothing more. I spilt no dropp of blood.
I didn’t wince with pain through war... nor turn the foul flood.
I didn’t march across the fields, nor swim against the tide
And yet I’m loved by each who yields a conscience still inside.
Think not that I, if human, too, could idly watch death grin.
For as a man, I’d join the few that knew that they must win!
I’d take up arms against the foe! I’d train and fight so brave!
For deep within my heart I’d know, a free world I must save!
Think not that I could turn and run and let the children down,
Nor unborn babes hid from the sun be born to wear a frown.
I’d fight for freedom, live or die! Regardless, come what may!
Because I’d know, that even I, must face God’s Judgement Day!
I’d not despise the souls that prayed as they stayed home instead.
I recognise a conscience weighed, yet blood weighs more once bled!
So buy a poppy... show you care! Give generously with love!
For every poppy that folks wear is seen by God above...
Poem by Denis Martindale © November 2003.
Royal British Legion: poppy-dot-org
poem by Denis Martindale
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Related quotes
Wear Your Poppy With Pride!
Wear your poppy with pride
Yet with humility
Because so many died
To gain our victory!
The blood they shed declared
Though war is hell indeed
Each noble soldier cared
And knew truth would succeed!
The cost itself was dear
For life cannot be priced.
Their valour knows no peer
Yet all were sacrificed
And though the memory stings
With tales of long gone by
The same old question clings
'Why must our soldiers die? '
Each war seems so forlorn
So void of wisdom still
Yet leaders shout with scorn
'The time has come to kill! '
Beware when men breed hate
For peace is not their aim
Each one will meet his fate
And own his share of blame!
When war is in men's hearts,
It's time to kneel and pray!
We know that when war starts
It's just like Judgment Day!
In peace, men find their rest
In war, they find their grief
In peace, men find they're blessed
In war, they find their wreath
So think of what it cost
For many soldiers died
Though many lives were lost,
Wear your poppy with pride!
copyright, Denis Martindale.
Royal British Legion: poppy-dot-org
poem by Denis Martindale
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Be Loyal To The Royal!
When the Royal British Legion
Began its ministry,
There was no quick completion,
No finished certainty.
Instead, there was a battle,
That went from war-to-war...
When souls were sold as chattel,
Possessions, nothing more...
Yet men weren't born for ditches
And pain and grief and mud...
For each soul has its riches
Beyond each dropp of blood.
Each man still has a family,
In Heaven or on Earth...
That's why we wear the poppy,
Remembrance has its worth.
The noble know their value,
They don't need preaching to.
They know what men have been put through.
Each had his job to do...
Yet charity still beckons us,
A duty to perform...
Beyond the thoughts we can't discuss,
Beyond the raging storm.
The welfare needs of others
Are here this very day.
If helping's not above us,
Then God will lead the way...
Support the Legion's service now
In sacrificial love.
By simply asking who and how
Is really not enough...
There's so much more that's left to do
Beyond the where and why.
The biggest question mark is YOU...
Don't pass the Legion by.
Remembrance isn't once a year,
Observed and then dismissed.
Remembrance isn't just a tear
Or tears if griefs persist.
Remembrance is a lifetime
In which to do our best.
It's 'Buddy, can you spare a dime? '
And not how well you're dressed.
It's offering a helping hand...
Like others have before...
For all across this noble land
Are hearts still marked by war...
poem by Denis Martindale
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To Remember
To remember those people who risked their lives
To show appreciation, to show we care
To save our country, they gave their lives
For their families it was like a dreaded nightmare
To support those soldiers and wear a poppy
To give some money, and not be soppy
To wear a poppy and remember that first day poppies grew, that one day it was sunny
Do you remember why
Why we wear a poppy for a couple of days
To show we remember and to show our gratitude is high
To do that, doesn’t pay
So to remember
To be silent
For a couple of minutes
Doesn’t pay
It just shows gratitude
For that one sad day
Poppy The Fairy
Upon a bank beneath a tree
Beside a trickley brook,
Upon an upturned nutshell I saw a fairy stood.
I offered her a sandwich and asked of her, her name?
“Poppy Bell”, she quick replied, and “This ham is rather tame, ”
I thought this oh so curious as in the bread was game.
I took the fairy home with me for a cup of tea,
“Would you like one lump or two? ” Said she “I will take three! ”
I’d never known a fairy take three sugars in her tea.
So filled to brim with sandwiches and tea up to her head,
That little Fairy Poppy Bell dozed off upon my bed
At lunchtime she was snoring loud by teatime she was dead!
It may have been the sandwiches; it may have been the bed,
It may have been the sugared tea that to Poppy’ I fed,
I’m not sure what it really was that made that fairy dead.
I quickly took a shoebox -
After taking out the shoes,
And in it I placed Poppy on her everlasting snooze.
I went back to the trickley brook,
I stood beneath the tree,
And there I buried Poppy with her sugars - One, two three.
No sooner had I buried her,
That on that very bank
The reddest little Poppy grew and bowed to me in thanks.
I picked the little Poppy
All red and bright and new,
And now I always wear it upon my favourite shoe.
It was a short time later
Whilst rambling through a wood,
That on an upturned nut shell I saw a fairy stood.
I offered her a sandwich and asked of her, her name?
“Poppy Bell! ” she quick replied,
“It’s me! I’m back again.”
poem by John Thomas
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Holly Up On Poppy
Holly up on poppy
Canter never stop
She has escaped from the world
Where they bake beautiful girls
Holly up on poppy
Trotting to the top
She talks and banners unfurl
Their secrets crayoned in swirls
Everyday i
Have to pluck up
Courage to look her in the eyes
The eyes of storms
Anyway i
Love to watch her
Ride and play the alchemy
That love performed
Laughing
Holly up on poppy...
Everytime i
Look at my watch
Im reminded we are poor
In hours per day
Every second
Spent with her
s a bulging wallet overstuffed
With angels pay
Laughter!
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poppy Brown and I
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Sitting by the window-ledge
Staring at the sky;
Keeping silent vigil watching
Up and down the street,
Passing many moments, Listening for her feet.
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Playing out the hours
Passing slowly by;
Keeping silent company,
Quiet as the moon,
Waiting for our loved one,
Hoping she'll come soon.
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Loving at the window-ledge
Waiting by and by;
Keeping silent vigil,
Playing out the night,
Looking to each other,
A kiss and then a fight.
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Waiting out the hours
Willing them to fly;
Keeping silent company,
Our mutual request:
The imminent arrival of
The one we love the best.
(Written 28th March 2006)
poem by John Carter Brown
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Sheer Class
The regal lion's earnt his fame
As sovereign lord and more,
His golden fur as if aflame,
His gaze forever sure...
His stature none could dare improve,
For his is quite renowned...
His eyes aware of every move,
His ears of every sound...
Aristocratic... every day...
As if the world were his...
As if all others must obey,
Or things would be amiss...
Behold the king, for such is he,
Behold the noble grace,
Behold the royal majesty
That shines upon his face...
The many battles he has fought
Were won beyond all doubt,
His challengers have come to nought,
Retreated, turned about...
Alone, he is the alpha male,
Of this, no need to guess...
How come he makes all others pale?
Sheer class, no more, no less...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Sheer Class'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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White Heritage
White lion cubs are very rare,
Yet how are they to know?
Nobody tells them that we care
And thank God that they grow!
Across the world our children learn
Of creatures on this Earth...
Those lion cubs don't know we yearn
For them to prove their worth...
The little cubs are weak today,
Just fragile balls of fluff...
Yet childhood soon must fly away,
Although this time we love...
Their friendships form strong bonds for life,
To bless each heart and mind...
Togetherness helps them survive,
This truth you'll always find...
We cherish them for what they are...
We wonder what they'll do.
As each one wanders near and far,
Exploring all things new...
Each bears a noble heritage,
As princes of renown.
The future years will form a bridge -
Each king will wear his crown...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Heritage'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Crucifixion
The hour came, the signs were clear, the day of days approached!
Would He be loved, esteemed, held dear, or would He be reproached?
The one He loved just turned away, until He stood alone!
Alone with only words to pray... yet God seemed cold as stone!
The one He loved was nowhere now... the day turned black as night!
Tomorrow what would God allow? His face was ashen white!
'They just don't care, it seems to Me! I'm left here on the shelf!
Nobody cares of what's to be! ' He whispered to Himself.
It didn't matter that He loved and sought the highest path!
Along the way, both shamed and shoved, this made the demons laugh!
He sighed the longest sigh love knew! Most didn't give a damn!
Yet after all life put Him through, He stayed the patient lamb...
A silence swept His very soul, immortal though it was
And yet He gave up all control, ascending to His Cross!
The trial of trials had just begun... His soul felt no reward.
He chose to love till life was done... His broken heart outpoured...
Once nailed by love, all Hell let loose... He knew He wouldn't live!
He suffered every ache and bruise... in love, His life to give!
When Sunday came, the world was changed! The Saviour lived anew!
Now there's no cause to be estranged, God's pardon's bought for you!
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2003.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fondness
Two penguins stood in one embrace,
United side-by-side,
Despite the coldness of the place,
They shared a sense of pride...
An inner warmth then grew within,
Like humans often feel,
As fondness grows and dreams begin
When something seems so real...
The ice stayed cold beneath their feet,
The sky stayed blue above,
Yet God knew how they looked so sweet,
As warmth turned into love...
From that day on, these two stayed close,
Contented lives to live,
For each goes where the other goes,
Companionship to give...
That's why they never felt alone,
Each sheltered from remorse,
While others nurtured hearts of stone,
As if the only course...
I envy all that fondness shared,
No matter, day or night,
Alas, for me, nobody cared...
And folks, that just ain't right...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Fondness'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Saint George
The dragon, taller than a tree,
Looked down on George's head,
While he looked up uncertainly
And fighting first his dread...
He stood his ground, not one step back,
As faith within him grew,
For while he knew that things looked black,
He had to see this through...
The dragon stood his ground as well,
Though George held high his sword...
The dragon, thought to come from Hell,
Perhaps with fire stored...
The dragon had no flames and yet
He knew George planned his death,
Yet thought he had no need to fret,
If George no more had breath...
The dragon swished his giant tail,
But George was wise to that
And proved himself an agile male
Instead of falling flat...
The tail passed by, his sword went in,
The dragon roared in pain
And when George saw his chance to win,
He pierced the tail again...
If dragons cursed and dragons swore,
That must have happened next,
As blood then spurted out for sure,
With that big dragon vexed...
He dragged his dragon's tail away
As fast as he then could
And then decided, come what may,
To kill small George real good...
But George was quick to cut things short,
He climbed the dragon's tail
And valiantly he fought and fought
The dragon tooth and nail...
Across the back, just like a hill,
He clambered to the hilt,
Upto the neck where he stayed still,
In hopes the beast was killed...
The dragon twisted left and right,
But George drew back his sword
And then he thrust with all his might,
So death would be assured...
The dragon gulped with bloodied mouth,
A glaze then filled his eyes,
Then suddenly his frame fell South,
With him cut down to size...
The dragon laid upon the ground,
While George climbed down nearby,
The dragon made a gurgling sound,
As if to ask him why...
The dragon hadn't sought this duel,
Yet George had blocked his path,
The dragon thought he was a fool
Who'd signed his epitaph...
The dragon's teeth were then removed
When he no longer breathed
And while folks cheered with courage proved,
George stood there quite relieved...
The villagers were quite impressed,
That brave George didn't faint...
The Church declared his noble quest
As worthy of a saint...
A patron saint, of course, is rare,
Yet England still recalls
His courage thought beyond compare
That it's still taught in schools...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Silver Tears Yet Golden Years
Our babies' tears are commonplace,
They cry at anything...
Yet when I looked at Christ's sad face,
Those tears were from a king...
Not just a king, not just a lord,
But total royalty...
And from His death, I stood assured,
Because He died for me...
Disciples know sins have a price,
An innocent must die...
With Christ, a willing sacrifice,
The cost to Him was high...
With no way out, He shed His Blood,
To mingle with His tears...
Forgiveness through the Son of God
That trickles through the years...
A billion prayers are prayed each day
By saints across the world,
Declaring Jesus is The Way,
Triumphant, arms unfurled...
With miracles for young and old,
With prophecies so true,
To be fulfilled as good as gold
And visions meant for you...
Behold, the challenge! Save the lost!
Declare Good News to all,
Lord Jesus Christ has paid the cost!
Explained by Brother Paul...
Like John and James and Peter taught,
In Bible books preserved,
Our precious souls by Christ were bought,
By God's grace, through His Word...
No man can boast he saved his soul
With sins against his name,
For sins when he lost self-control
That cause his conscience shame,
Yet Jesus takes those sins away!
As far from East to West,
His Royal Pardon saves the day!
Through Him, this world is blessed...
But who believes God's great Good News?
Salvation! Saved by faith!
Made plain to Gentiles and to Jews,
So that they might be brave...
Enough to kneel, to pray, to yield,
To trust in Christ the King...
Obedient to God's grace revealed...
To me, that's everything!
When Christ returns, who will He find
Who's faithful to the end?
Who wants to leave this world behind
And join Him as their friend,
To leave their house, their street, their town,
The planet Earth below...
Past silver tears still falling down
For golden years to know?
Denis Martindale, copyright, March 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Danger
The lion lowered length-to-length,
With danger on his mind
And so he girded all his strength,
His purpose now defined...
His crinkled wrinkled brow felt tight,
His eyes glared to and fro,
Against each danger he must fight
And overcome each foe...
Survival was his only thought,
Adrenalin, his friend,
He'd either catch or he'd be caught,
To win or meet his end...
The sun above had seen it all,
Yet did not stir to save,
Why would it care if he should fall
Or fight so fierce and brave?
The lion's courage made him stay,
He didn't turn and run,
He didn't whimper like a stray
Unhelped by anyone...
His heart was beating oh so fast!
Then suddenly he leapt!
He lived with scars that never passed,
Yet his one life he kept...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Danger'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Poppy Seller
The poppy seller stands near the Rotunda.
He vends his paper flowers as before.
He wears a small red poppy in Remembrance
of heroes fallen in our nation’s wars.
The people pass as if he’s’ non existent,
more interested to buy well watered beer.
The Veteran feels the sting of their indifference-
Upon his grizzled cheek I spy a tear.
I cannot, will not also pass in silence
I stop and donate something at his stall
He stammers thanks, but he needn’t thank me-
more fitting that I thank those who gave all.
They who owed us nothing gave us everything.
We, their debtors, balk to pay our share.
And still the poppy flourishes in Burgundy,
past living memory, as a wordless prayer..
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Bullets and Poppies
Bullets were flying
and soldiers were dying
as crimson poppies
swayed in the breeze,
beyond the trenches
beyond the green leas
in the fourteen-eighteen war
'the war to end all wars'
but these words sadly
failed to please.
The poppy's the emblem
and sorrowful hearts in sympathy
wander back to Flanders Fields
where thousands of comrades
were shamefully killed.
Golden the archives,
with names of the heroes...
and the poppy still sways
in the breeze, because
wars will never cease.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Try Super-Addictive 'Freebase' Nicotine Today!
When nicotine is added to some chemicals folks try,
It's then 'freebase', folks' brains to screw and finally folks die.
Some cigarettes are made so strong that strong men fail to quit,
Yet would they start a thing so wrong if they knew all of it?
Each packet has a warning note to tell folks, 'Leave these be! '
Once warned, who needs an antidote or cure to set folks free?
Yet there are those who still ignore the signpost, 'Sickness! Death! '
Though loved ones nag and will implore, is this just wasted breath?
Why must it be that cigarettes turn wise folks into fools?
Why must we see fag-fuelled regrets, yes, even in our schools?
How many deaths must be played out before the world sees sense
And bans what makes the grievers shout, such that all smoking ends?
Freebase, freewill, freedom to choose? But funerals aren't free!
Nor are the feelings when you lose the life God meant to be...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Group Hug
The meerkats looked and looked and looked,
But nothing was in sight!
Yet all day long, the sun had cooked
And fried and fried and fried!
They'd stood their ground, while standing tall,
Through teamwork, each was safe...
When evening came, I watched them all,
Defiant, noble, brave...
Then suddenly, they huddled close,
Like bugs upon a rug...
Now crouched up tight, each cuddled nose
Caressed in their group hug!
I've never seen the like before!
So intimate, so sweet...
A parable I'll not ignore:
Love makes our lives complete!
I'm not the sort to cuddle folks!
Most folks don't seem to care!
I'd be the butt of countless jokes,
If I should ever dare!
Yet should I envy the meerkat,
With friends on every side?
Oi, you! Watch out! Whose foot was that?
Be careful, pal... all right?
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Group Hug'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Lying Man
This is the true story
About a confused little boy
Who stood just above five foot tall.
But his mother called him a man
Whenever he tried to stand
But everyone knew, what they saw.
As he was an only child
His mommy protected him from the wild
And also, from people like me and you.
He got others to fight his fights
When confrontation came into sight
As he also was a coward deep and true.
He did not have a hair on his head
Maybe because his morality was dead
Or maybe because GOD didn't like him at all.
He didn't even have a job
So from the tax payers He would rob
Staying at home without a sweat on his brow.
He would wear high heel boots
And sometimes wear young boys suit
To fill like a man, whenever others would allow.
He was also a liar and a thief
And an adulterer and and a cheat
And other souls would laugh, when he did fall.
One day his children they ran away
And so did his wife did that one day
As to them, he wasn't a father or a man.
So he went out looking for another
A women to use and who was like his mother
Someone who would kiss his feet and his hand.
So finally he found himself a whore
Who like him, as been used many times before
Now together they can stay warm together at night.
As she has no loyalty or virtue or pride
To show herself or her children deep inside
Now GOD and Man stay sick, when they are in sight.
So his whore hunches when she walks
So they are the same size when they talk
So that little boy will feel like a man.
But everyone still stop and stare
Whenever they go here or maybe there
Maybe him and her they try to understand.
But the boy still has his mother
And really he needs no other
As like him, she too is a liar and cheat
They both have there stupid grin
Maybe they too in their souls are twin
As their souls are full of using and deceit.
But as i say this is a true story
About a pathetic little boy
Who is lair and a cheat and not a man.
And when he dies will anyone care
Or will anyone hush and say a prayer
I would say not, and now you understand.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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In the Trenches
I snatched two poppies
From the parapet’s ledge,
Two bright red poppies
That winked on the ledge.
Behind my ear
I stuck one through,
One blood red poppy
I gave to you.
The sandbags narrowed
And screwed out our jest,
And tore the poppy
You had on your breast ...
Down - a shell - O! Christ,
I am choked ... safe ... dust blind, I
See trench floor poppies
Strewn. Smashed you lie.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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The Dedicated Fundraiser
In every town across the land
We find him holding out his hand -
Collecting funds for charity
From folks like you... and folks like me!
He stands there waiting, rain or shine,
Hoping we will not decline
The needs of those that he holds dear -
For whom he chose to volunteer!
They may be starving refugees!
His conscience hears their earnest pleas!
They may be blind, deaf, dumb or lame!
Their plight is now his sacred aim!
They may be helpless, quite forlorn!
A noble cause has just been born...
A flood or earthquake, who can say! ?
And yet, through him, help's on its way!
But only if he stands and waits,
Upon the Council's licenced dates,
For many seek to raise funds, too...
From folks like me... and folks like you!
It's up to us to contribute -
To play the saint or stay the brute!
Donate a pound or walk on by,
Not asking who or what or why...
He simply stands in silent hope
To save some lives... help victims cope...
So, think again! Don't hurry past!
This chance to help may be the last!
It's up to us to show we care...
Just like the man who's standing there...
poem by Denis Martindale
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