The Queen in Black
Remembrance Day, London,1973
How many thousands watched her lay
the wreath of poppies while they prayed…
Or held their breath and stood still in silence
two minutes for the sacrifice, in remembrance.
As each petal falls from above so a page in the book
of memories ~ thoughts of someone they loved and lost.
They say each petal represents the life of one who gave.
Poppies seen growing amongst a country-side of graves…
Frances Macaulay Forde © 1973
poem by Frances Macaulay Forde
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Related quotes
Poppies
Poppies they say adieu, goodbye,
men fought, yet did not want to die,
Poppies were tossing, waving free,
as war took lives so poignantly.
Poppies upstanding, boldly grow,
youth enlisted but did not know,
Poppieswould represent such pain,
that they would never forget the slain.
Poppies beautiful, fresh and new,
All one bright colour, flawless hue,
Poppies petals see where they land,
upon a face, an arm or a hand.
Poppies vibrant, stunningly red,
softly surround each silent head,
Poppies fragile, dainty and neat,
guard the space around their feet.
Poppies carpeting the hard ground,
where the marching of boots resound,
Poppies whose wind blown seas of blood,
captured them like a mighty flood.
Poppies tell of their dreams long lost, ,
we hear their names, we count the cost.
Poppies bring tears as we recall,
our loved ones parted from us all.
Poppies they say goodbye, adieu,
men fought for me, they fought for you.
Those tossing poppies, waving free,
mean remembrance to you and me.
Copyright. Ernestine Northover
poem by Ernestine Northover
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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 Petal Effect
A flower is born, bringing life to Earth.
With the experiences made on Earth,
A petal falls off the flower.
It slowly takes life from the flower.
He has his first crush, one petal is lost.
Bachelor's degree is obtained and requires another petal.
A family drops two more precious petals.
The last petal falls as life ends on Earth.
poem by Cody Klinker
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I Wonder.
In Flanders Fields red poppies grow.
But long dead warriors lie below.
Their rotted bodies nourishing
The scarlet poppies flourishing..
As if to draw attention to.
The graves of men who never knew.
That they would not see their homes more
But here they lie for evermore.
In Flanders Fields lost heroes lie.
In unmarked graves beneath the sky.
Far from the which gave them birth
They add their substance to the earth.
Which Belgian farmers cultivate.
Selected randomly by fate.
There can be few survivors left
But those of us who choose to go
To Flanders where the poppies grow.
All make the trip to show respect
Numbers dwindling as you'd expect.
There's very few now left to go.
To see the scarlet poppies glow
The numbers grow less day by day.
When they are called they must obey.
Rejoining those who went before.
The men who fell in the Great War.
I wonder will poppies still grow
When there's no one left to go.
Monday,25 June 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Petal Game
pick a flower
to play the petal game
pluck a petal
he loves me
pluck a petal
I don't love him
pluck a petal
he keeps getting closer
pluck a petal
I keep pushing him away
pluck a petal
he is always around me
pluck a petal
I hide away from him
pluck a petal
he is always protecting me
pluck a petal
I just punch him in the gut
pluck a petal
he never seems to get it
pluck a petal
I really hate his guts
pluck a petal
he just really bugs me
pluck a petal
I need a new flower now
pick a flower
to play the petal game
poem by Amber Lyn Charneski
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Poppies
Some scarlet poppies lay upon our right.
He watched them through his periscope all day.
He watched then all the day; but in the night
They seemed to pass away.
They came again much redder with the morn’
And still he gazed, and strangely longed to roam
Among their savage splendour in the corn,
And ponder on his home.
But when the charge was done, they found him
there
Deep in the redness, where he’d made his stand,
With withered poppies in his twisted hair,
And poppies in his hand.
poem by Leon Gellert
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A Song Of Poppies
I love red poppies! Imperial red poppies!
Sun-worshippers are they;
Gladly as trees live through a hundred summers
They live one little day.
I love red poppies! Impassioned scarlet poppies!
Ever their strange perfume
Seems like an essence brewed by fairy people
From an immortal bloom.
I love red poppies! Red, silken, swaying poppies!
Deep in their hearts they keep
A magic cure for woe--a draught of Lethe--
A lotus-gift of sleep.
I love red poppies! Soft silver-stemmed, red poppies,
That from the rain and sun
Gather a balm to heal some earth-born sorrow,
When their glad day is done.
poem by Virna Sheard
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Five minutes ago...
you toddled up
slapped my face
stumbling
grumbling
running race
football jumper
muddy shoes
teeth that loosened
legs that grew
homemade bow
brand new shoes
not worn-out yet
underdaks the ones
that stretched
cotton socks
jeans that fit
it seems 5 minutes
where did you go?
NOTE: Also on this page: http: //www.mmbpublishing.com/MothersDayPoems.html
poem by Frances Macaulay Forde
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Cinquain - No 2 - Trust
Don't
let me drown
in a cruel sea without
that life raft of honesty.
Promise?
poem by Frances Macaulay Forde
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Poppies
Seeing poppies growing in the wild,
Takes me back to when I was a child.
We’d often go for walks on a Sunday,
And often spot poppies along the way.
My dad’s hand I would tightly hold,
As I spied the poppies bright and bold.
Because I was young and very small,
The poppies seemed to be so very tall.
There was a field full of them, which I adored.
By their appearance, I never ever grew bored.
The large field where the poppies once grew,
Soon made way for a factory, shiny and new.
True to say, it was only empty waste ground,
But it was our little haven, which we found.
I think they should have left the field alone,
So as, through it, other people could still roam.
I know everyone nowadays talks about progress,
But there are times, when it’s not always for the best.
When they cleared that large patch of waste land,
That stunning view became something very bland.
To me, they are a flower which brings much cheer,
As they remind me of times, which I hold so dear.
Now, when I spot poppies growing here and there,
They remind me of the days, when I had little care.
That riot of colour. That sea of red:
That vision is still there in my head.
I can still picture it in my mind’s eye,
And recall those days of times gone by.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Different
We were born from poppies. Our skins breathed like the stalks
of our birth givers. Our hairs grew and intertwined.
We were born from poppies. Our skins breathed always
differently, our eye blinked always differently and
we differently counted steps
childlike and pebbles
in little shoes, differently
burned our vocal fires and the letters
we folded differently in different colours
with different post stamps, floral oral tongues
we spoke, the children watched us, we counted,
the river knew, we counted memories and images.
How many images and memories?
We were born by our river in the fragrance of earth and grass
sweated out of the warm womb of cloying red poppies.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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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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When
When the last sparkle has left the final star,
When the last rock has turned to sand,
I will still have a vision of you and I,
As we walk hand in hand.
When the last minutes of the eleventh hour fade away,
When the last ray comes from the sun,
I will have remembrance of songs we sang,
I'll remember when we became one.
When the last juice comes from the last grape,
When the last cloud comes gently across the sky,
I'll see your golden hair,
I'll still be lost in the deep blue of your eyes.
When the last petal drifts from the last rose,
When the last note of the last song fades,
I'll be listening for the sound of your voice,
You'll still surprise me with your love in all its shades.
R K Hart 2012
Business Of War
The Business of War.
In this clearing in the woods so full of butter coloured flowers
I know there is a mass grave underneath, a forgotten war,
bones of the nameless that died for a cause that was not theirs,
but they were loyal and when told to fight and they often died,
many never knowing why. At the edge, of the yellow field,
there are pale poppies the dead have no more blood to offer.
I think of Afghanistan, poppies there are more deadly, I wonder
if western soldiers who lost their life in a cause that is unclear,
will get their own graveyard and have their crosses there,
in a Moslem country, tended to with fresh flowers, but go easy
on the poppies. The skeletons under my feet, died because of
salt that, once upon a time- before oil- was big business, but I’m
sure the soldiers were told lies about nationality and freedom.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Friends Never Say Goodbye
Friends never say
goodbye...
But you and me
will never be the
same again.
Our friendship is
like a dying rose...
Every petal falls
off.
Every single rose petal
means something....
What you did to our
friendship is that
rose petal.
I’m sorry....but that
rose...is never going
to grow back....
And neither is our
friendship.
poem by Lisa Parks
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London 7/7 Bombings
A dark anniversary dawns,
Such tragic deaths the country mourns,
There's a hurting across London,
Scars of the city yet deepen,
On a day that held a dark hour,
Lives go on owed to willpower,
All they that were shocked by a blast,
Resolved to put it in the past,
With one minute spent in silence,
We will stand in remembrance,
For innocent lost in heaven,
The bombings of 7/7.
Think of the taken fifty two,
Horrors that survivors went through,
Amid events that were so grave,
Men, women and children were so brave.
poem by Christian Lacdael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everlasting Rose
a rose is often used to show
your affectionate feelings to
someone special.
The 'r' in the word represents
The radiant beauty of a rose.
For no flow can compare.
For you are like a rose filled with passion
And are truly one of a kind.
The 'o' represents the overwhelming
depths of color of each petal of
the rose. It's like the outstanding
depths of color that spark in
your beautiful eyes.
The 's' represents the Softness
of each petal of the rose.
For your lips are like the
petalsof a rose, soft and sweet
to each kiss.
The 'e' represents the everlasting
beauty of the rose, for the rose
soon fades and dies.
But the everlasting beauty of it
stays in the eye of your mind forever
for you are like my rose.
For your beauty is everlasting
neither fades nor dies in the
eyes of the one that cares for you.
poem by Ryan Castro
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School Daze
butterfly jumper
thai yellow shoes
rhythm and rhyme
gave us the clues
words with a reason
passionate hues
snapshots of feeling
images in blue
it takes real talent
possessed by so few
to write something cool
in a couplet or two
or a japanese tanka
french cinquain or haiku
poem by Frances Macaulay Forde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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POW/MIA Remembrance Day
POW/MIA Remembrance Day
(Third Friday of September)
Thousands are still missing
From those Wars of the past
Slowly, some are coming home
To grieving Families, at last.
Some found in unmarked graves
On foreign lands across the sea
With the science of DNA
To reveal, their true identity.
JPAC was formed to find them
Around fourteen hundred, to date
And for loved ones seeking closure
It surely, never is, too late.
They think, forty thousand left
They might be able to recover
As they follow leads and tips
From, one country to another.
Some remains, may be lost forever
Like those Heroes, resting in the Deep
But, to bring those others home
Is a solemn promise, we must keep.
It’s a very noble thing they do
As, they go, and search, and find
Those, who died for our Country
For, we must, leave no one behind.
Every year we have a special day
To, remember those still lost
To, renew that promise to them
No matter what, it may cost.
Del “Abe” Jones
09.18.2008