Words. Words are part of our every day life, whatever our language, creed or background. Words have power that little else can match; they can make you happy or make you weep with sadness, they can cause great pain or, alternatively inspire great courage. Where will words take you? What will you do with them? What will you feel?
This collection of poetry essentially consists of two sections: Hindsight, which mainly pertains to aspects of the First World War, including humour. It is nor just for readers with military interest and, although the main message is Remembrance, it is also relevant to anyone, everyone who has experienced laughter, grief, irony, hope in adversity and the strength of human friendship. Explanations discuss historic detail referred to within the poems.
The second section, 'Words' contains verse on other subjects, from Hamlet spoofs to and ode about Scotland.
All works, illustrations included , are the original work of the author
A VISIT TO MENIN
“Mother, what’s that gate for?
It’s stone, and big, and strong.
It’s got so many names on—
The list is very long.
On top of it’s a lion
And beneath the arch does play
A man upon a bugle—
So sad—What does it say?
That tune, it makes me shiver
And read those names once more.
O Mother, please do tell me:
What is that big gate for?”
“I’ll tell you what that gate’s for,”
Mother thoughtfully replied.
“It’s a monument to your daddy
And all his mates who died.
Some, well, they couldn’t find them
See—those are all their names—
Came up this road to go to war,
And ne’er came home again.
They fought and died like Daddy
So many, many more…
And so we don’t forget them,
That’s what that big gate’s for.”
OMLET, SNIFFS OF DENMARK 3:1
(Hamlet 3,1 )
To sneeze, or not to sneeze, that is the question
Whether ‘t is nobler in the mind to suffer
The sniffs and bellows of the latest ‘Flu bug
Or inhale ‘Vicks’ against a sea of snuffles
Then by a blowing end them…
To breathe, to sleep, not snore;
And by a sniff today we tend
The earache and the thousand gradual coughs
The chest is heir to.
‘T is some medication devoutly to be wished.
To blow? To sniff?
To sniff perchance to breathe; ay, there’s the rub!
For in that whiff of breath, what relief may come
When we have snuffled in this awful toil
Must give us sores….
There’s the respect
That requires a hanky of so soft a ply
…Who would harsh ones bear
When he might his quietus make with a Kleenex tissue?
But for the red noses after this
The un-reliev-ed cough, from whose croak
No voice returns, muffles the throat
And makes us rather bear those pills we have
Than try those cures we know not of…
Born in 1977 in Norfolk, England, the author started writing aged eight and had their first publication at the age of 17, after a visit to the battlefields of France and Flanders and is called 'Now Poppies Grow' - it is included in the collection.
This book is in two parts: the first, 'Hindsight,' is dedicated to all who fought in the conflict of 1914-1918, the second, 'Words' contains 'normal' poems, written over the years for various reasons. Sometimes the verses just come, sometimes they are produced for people who have asked for a piece on a particular subject
"Why do I write about the War? The reason is in itself simple. I believe people should not forget what happened, that we should have learnt so much from it. Unfortunately, that's something us humans rarely manage:- taking the lessons left by those who "went before."