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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Act Of Rememberence
Arms of steel, hair of gold
Royal blue eyes, with a rebel soul
You scared me, you still do
But I loved you
More than you ever knew
This is my act of remembrance
My act of remembrance
Doctor's face, said the time had come
I stood up, and began to run
My boy's voice, called your name
You roared back and the silence came
This is my act of remembrance
My act of remembrance
Drove my car, to your street
Hoped a ghost, I would meet
Well that ghost, he's moved on
But his anger, Dad is it gone?
Is the pain gone, is it all gone?
This is my act of remembrance
My act of remembrance
This is my act of remembrance
song performed by by Proclaimers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Remembrance Of The Good
THE remembrance of the Good
Keep us ever glad in mood.
The remembrance of the Fair
Makes a mortal rapture share.
The remembrance of one's Love
Blest Is, if it constant prove.
The remembrance of the One
Is the greatest joy that's known.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old Twenty-Third Man
“Is that the Three-and-Twentieth, Strabo mine,
Marching below, and we still gulping wine?”
From the sad magic of his fragrant cup
The red-faced old centurion started up,
Cursed, battered on the table. “No,” he said,
“Not that! The Three-and-Twentieth Legion’s dead,
Dead in the first year of this damned campaign—
The Legion’s dead, dead, and won’t rise again.
Pity? Rome pities her brave lads that die,
But we need pity also, you and I,
Whom Gallic spear and Belgian arrow miss,
Who live to see the Legion come to this,
Unsoldierlike, slovenly, bent on loot,
Grumblers, diseased, unskilled to thrust or shoot.
O, brown cheek, muscled shoulder, sturdy thigh!
Where are they now? God! watch it struggle by,
The sullen pack of ragged ugly swine.
Is that the Legion, Gracchus? Quick, the wine!”
“Strabo,” said Gracchus, “you are strange tonight.
The Legion is the Legion; it’s all right.
If these new men are slovenly, in your thinking,
God damn it! you’ll not better them by drinking.
They all try, Strabo; trust their hearts and hands.
The Legion is the Legion while Rome stands,
And these same men before the autumn’s fall
Shall bang old Vercingetorix out of Gaul.”
poem by Robert Graves
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Remembrance Day
For our king and our country and the promise of glory
We came from kingston and brighton to fight on the front line
Just lads from the farms and boys from the cities
Not meant to be soldiers we lay in the trenches
Wed face the fighting with a smile - or so we said
If only we had known what danger lay ahead
The sky turned to grey as we went into battle
On the fields of europe young men were fallin
Ill be back for you someday - it wont be long
If I can just hold on til this bloody war is over
The guns will be silent on remembrance day
Therell be no more fighting on remembrance day
By october of 18 cambrai had fallen
Soon the war would be over and wed be returnin
Dont forget me while Im gone far away
Well it wont be long till Im back there in your arms again
One day soon - I dont know when
You know well all be free and the bells of peace will ring again
The time will come for you and me
Well be goin home when this bloody war is ended
The guns will be silent on remembrance day
Well all say a prayer on remembrance day
On remembrance day - say a little prayer
On remembrance day
Well the guns will be silent
Therell be no more fighting
Oh well lay down our weapons
On remembrance day
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remembrance of God
Please remember God as much as you can
So that God remembers you
And keeps you safe and sound
Remembrance of God
Will merge your mind with that of God
And He will give you power to show miracles
Remembrance of God
Will take you to the paradise
And make you a friend of God
Remembrance of God
Will facilitate acquiring knowledge
And make your life smooth as silk
poem by Asif Andalib
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D’soldier
So ride on soldier
And shoot into the skies of remembrance
Don’t say i did not tell thee
Of the times before remembrance
Where the men did declare the war
After the ideas of peace
I d bardist speakest peace to humanity
But you rent the earth with your swords and weapons
Blood flows, gruesome murders, Captives of war
Sinks into the wells of remembrance
From whence thou cometh up again
Servant of hell
Messenger of the war Lords
Shoot down the angels of peace in heaven
To thee:
War is honour
Peace a disdain
Waka for earth
Like devil pikin himself
Or are you devil incarnate
Appear again
To cause war on earth
Go thou soldier
For it is not your fault
Go thou soldier
For it is the politicians from hell that send thee
Go, Go away
We do not want war again.
poem by larry Philosopher
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Faint Remembrance
Thinking of some half trodden lanes
With some memories full of pain
Looking at some shut down gates
Seeking some moved apart mates
I sit in some lonely place
Along with some faint remembrance....
Repenting over some broken trusts
Experiencing some unquenched thirsts
Counting some dropped down tears
Realizing some still alive fears
I sit in some lonely place
Along with some faint remembrance......
Staring at some uncherished dreams
Listening to some silent screams
Waiting for some mysterious spell
To bring my sorrows to an end
I sit in some lonely place
Along with some faint remembrance........
poem by Spinning Totem
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The remembrance of the heart is better than the remembrance of the head.
Like Mountains Lying Far Away And Blue
Like mountains lying far away and blue
love stays constant; it does not become common,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance
and of this there is something between you and me;
I can never gaze enough at you.
Like mountains lying far away and blue
of which the presence never fades
there is something that looks like true love,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance
that clings to every other thought,
.as something that does not want to parish.
Like mountains lying far away and blue
your humanity stays eternally true to me,
your face is continually covered with a ray of sun,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance
and even when your tears shines like drops of dew
our love does stay eternally glamorous,
like mountains lying far away and blue
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aurora
Like a fairy with flowers in her hair,
I possess sweet remembrance of her.
In the coolness of the September air,
Strains of melancholic chords I do hear,
And though I might not know what,
Yet something may have changed,
For I possess sweet remembrance of her,
And the emblem of her beauty caresses my heart,
Like the fluttering of birds' wings in the cool air.
Yes, like Aurora with flowers in her hair,
I possess sweet remembrance of her,
And her fragrance follows my path.
poem by Enoch John
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It Is Not the Tear At This Moment Shed
It is not the tear at this moment shed,
When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him,
That can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him.
'Tis the tear, through many a long day wept,
'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded;
'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept,
When all lighter griefs have faded.
Thus his memory, like some holy light,
Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them,
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he lived but to love them.
And as fresher flowers the sod perfume
Where buried saints are lying,
So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom
From the image he left there in dying!
poem by Thomas Moore
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Remembrance of a Child
This poem is written for all children taken from this world by rape and abuse.
Remembrance of a Child
By: Adam M. Snow
Remembrance of a child,
born tender and mild,
not an age past eight.
Such innocent filled eyes,
this world despise,
now lying in this grave.
She would laugh and play,
every night and every day,
with that smile upon her face.
She could light up the world,
when she danced and twirled,
now her essence is broken.
She never done no harm,
with her joyous charm,
now her essence is tainted.
She didn't deserve what she got,
yet the people soon forgot,
how she died in vain.
Taken from home by a family friend,
raped and abused, soon would be her end.
Now tarnished and left for dead,
cold and alone she waits,
as the world berates,
now naked and afraid, she dies.
Remembrance of a child,
born tender and mild,
yet taken at a young age.
Such innocent filled eyes,
this world despise,
now lying in this grave.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Kelly Of The Legion
Now Kelly was no fighter;
He loved his pipe and glass;
An easygoing blighter,
Who lived in Montparnasse.
But 'mid the tavern tattle
He heard some guinney say:
"When France goes forth to battle,
The Legion leads the way.
"The scourings of creation,
Of every sin and station,
The men who've known damnation,
Are picked to lead the way."
Well, Kelly joined the Legion;
They marched him day and night;
They rushed him to the region
Where largest loomed the fight.
"Behold your mighty mission,
Your destiny," said they;
"By glorious tradition
The Legion leads the way.
"With tattered banners flying
With trail of dead and dying,
On! On! All hell defying,
The Legion sweeps the way."
With grim, hard-bitten faces,
With jests of savage mirth,
They swept into their places,
The men of iron worth;
Their blooded steel was flashing;
They swung to face the fray;
Then rushing, roaring, crashing,
The Legion cleared the way.
The trail they blazed was gory;
Few lived to tell the story;
Through death they plunged to glory;
But, oh, they cleared the way!
Now Kelly lay a-dying,
And dimly saw advance,
With split new banners flying,
The fantassins of France.
Then up amid the melee
He rose from where he lay;
"Come on, me boys," says Kelly,
"The Layjun lades the way!"
Aye, while they faltered, doubting
(Such flames of doom were spouting),
He caught them, thrilled them, shouting:
"The Layjun lades the way!"
They saw him slip and stumble,
Then stagger on once more;
They marked him trip and tumble,
A mass of grime and gore;
They watched him blindly crawling
Amid hell's own affray,
And calling, calling, calling:
"The Layjun lades the way!"
And even while they wondered,
The battle-wrack was sundered;
To Victory they thundered,
But . . . Kelly led the way.
Still Kelly kept agoing;
Berserker-like he ran;
His eyes with fury glowing,
A lion of a man;
His rifle madly swinging,
His soul athirst to slay,
His slogan ringing, ringing,
"The Layjun lades the way!"
Till in a pit death-baited,
Where Huns with Maxims waited,
He plunged . . . and there, blood-sated,
To death he stabbed his way.
Now Kelly was a fellow
Who simply loathed a fight:
He loved a tavern mellow,
Grog hot and pipe alight;
I'm sure the Show appalled him,
And yet without dismay,
When Death and Duty called him,
He up and led the way.
So in Valhalla drinking
(If heroes meek and shrinking
Are suffered there), I'm thinking
'Tis Kelly leads the way.
poem by Robert William Service
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Beyond the grief.
It seems as if we are stalled by our grief,
unable to move away from it – and I wonder
if we will ever get over the loss of you. In time
they say we will, that one day we will finally be free
of the sadness that burdens our hearts, and we will dance
in our remembrance, and there will be no more tears.
But if that's true, I must admit I will miss the tears
when there is an eventual easing of the grief.
I am not as eager to begin the dance
of life without you, for the world has lost its wonder
for me, some of its shine - and being free
seems awfully relative - I suppose just like time.
I can still so clearly recall the last time
we were all together - the tears
we shared, even laughter, when you were set free
of this earthly pain - and even in our grief,
we were filled with such wonder
as we witnessed the end of life's dance.
When I was a little boy you used to let me dance
on the top of your shoes, moving in time
to the music on the radio. Is it any wonder
that music, to this day, brings tears
of joy, mingled with the ever-present grief,
which still has not set me completely free.
I now realize there is a cost to love; it's not free -
for when you love, you buy a ticket to the dance
of life - which comes with joy and pain, celebration and grief.
And if you have lived a long enough time,
as I have, even when the loss brings never ending tears,
with a broken heart, it's worth all of the pain, and it's no wonder
people love so fiercely - so much so that they cease to wonder
about the why, when or where - and now I realize that I am free
to love, and to lose, which will bring with it many tears.
But each tear is worth it - and seems to make the dance
more authentic. In the end, I will measure my time
by how much of it was filled with love, and with grief.
No longer will I wonder whether or not I should dance,
I will just be free, stepping in and out of time,
wearing my tears like a badge of honor as I move beyond the grief.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Remembrance
I adore the rise of moon
and the stars shining bright
bringing me your remembrance
in the solitude of night.
Moonlight seems flowery spread on earth
merging in the sea
river quenching its thirst
waves exulting in expectations
rejoice and swoon
under the moon & moonlight
when I remember you
in the solitude of night.
Decked with flowers
lass on a swing
like a cuckoo,
she then sings
and shehnai being played far off, echoing.
Hoping to meet her beloved,
she blossoms like a flower of mustard
song of separation makes love deep
her love erupts when separation seeps
all bringing me your remembrance
in the solitude of night
under the moonlight.
Putting me in trance
resonance of your voice
watching me in this state
you glow and rejoice
casting a spell, who deserts me at dawn
remembrance comes again then
under the moonlight
in the solitude of night.
I adore the rise of moon
and the stars shining bright
bringing me your remembrance
in the solitude of night.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Children Need A Helping Hand
(featuring various artists)
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Children are so innocent
Make this world a wonderland
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children have a heart of gold
Sometimes they feel alone and sold
They need someone to be around
Reach out
A helping hand
So many children dont know what to do
cause no ones there to guide em through
Were living in a world so cold
Dont make them sad and sold
They need a helping hand
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promised land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Day by day
Children are so innocent
Show them the way
Make this world a wonderland
Join us and stay
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children, need a helping hand
We are all called to change
Into a world of hope
Without war, without pain
Children do have fantasies
The thoughts of far away and free
Dreamin of a wonderland
They live
In a childrens world
We could live in perfect harmony
Wonderland could be reality
Without war and without pain
And no one dies in vain
Thats the promised land
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Day by day
Children are so innocent
Show them the way
Make this world a wonderland
Join us and stay
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children wanna find their own way
Gettin stronger day by day
Children have a heart and soul
Dont let them live without a goal
Children, make the world go round
Dont destroy what they have found
Set an example be consequent
Be confident with a helping hand
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Children are so innocent
Make this world a wonderland
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
song performed by by Backstreet Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Canada to England
Great names of thy great captains gone before
Beat with our blood, who have that blood of thee;
Raleigh and Grenville, Wolfe, and all the free
Fine souls who dared to front a world in war.
Such only may outreach the envious years
Where feebler crowns and fainter stars remove,
Nurtured in one remembrance and one love
Too high for passion and too stern for tears.
O little isle our fathers held for home,
Not, not alone thy standards and thy hosts
Lead where thy sons shall follow, Mother Land:
Quick as the north wind, ardent as the foam,
Behold, behold the invulnerable ghosts
Of all past greatnesses about thee stand.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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