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My first poem on the soup:


Honouring the Wartime Dead

They fought with grit to save the nation, 
From poverty, squalor and infidelity, 
And when they marched it was the Nazi’s or them, 
Who would suffice to keep their dignity. 

The Second was really over the same as the First:  
The freedom and equality that democracies offer; 
Hitler was not to rule the freethinking lands, 
Which representative governments quietly did proffer.  

Their Ladies’ which, it was said, almost flew themselves, 
Were engineered by women as superior planes;  
Through dogfight and bullet, over occupied territories -
The pilots exploded German ammunition trains. 




In Response to My First Poem

As a child of four and five, 
And right through my early primary years, 
My dad talked at dinner about the war, 
And of his wartime distresses and fears. 

But a few times when I was really young, 
He took an arm chair and gave voice, 
To how he felt and dealt with his posting, 
And that it was his and only his choice. 

It was just him and me who had discourse, 
So I dug as hard as I could but gave him his space, 
For just exactly how he’d enlivened, 
The plane of his of which he was an ace. 

He called it to me his lady, 
And from then on I understood how to handle,
Planes and all kinds and tech and devices:
That you should respect them and tangle. 

He told me what the two world wars meant, 
And suggested sexual sterilisation was at stake, 
And that it was grit which retained the dignity,
Of the western world which did quake.

I am a political, scientific and atheistic poet, 
And wished to allude to that with my first poem, 
That I love poeticising culture and technology: 
Computers and all that, ‘cos I know ‘em. 

As a child of four or five, 
I promised myself to give back to him somehow, 
Most definitely in the form of a literary poem, 
That knowledge he’d imbued in me, his dow.

The poem Honouring the Wartime Dead,
Also quietly murmurs atheism’s practical arms, 
As my dad had quietly admonished mindset and action, 
Without any reservations or qualms. 

I hope that on the soup, 
You find from me a good read, 
Enjoyable but educational and with a view, 
That lets you tell the bloom from the weed.  



29/9/2015



For the A Response to my First Poem contest by Silent One.
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