Best Flanders Poems
Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
(A Tribute)
Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed of vast and cold hard land
quick temper, power of a surging flood.
Seeker of life, its promised mysteries
rash gambler with all he would ever own.
Born on ship in high wind swept, roaring seas
toughest warrior his town had ever grown.
Met his fate by volley of red-hot lead
buried on ground scared and battle blasted.
Aye boys, fodder that machine guns were fed
fools marching to death, long as it lasted.
Now flowers cover up and Time denies
scenes of battle torn soil and blood-red skies.
R.J. Lindley
April 23rd, 1975
SONNET-(DEATH AND WAR'S FUTILITY)
Tribute to Courage of Youth-- Second Battle of Ypres, April 22nd 1915 .
Note- added - 8-26-2017
Wiki-
The name Flanders Fields is particularly associated with battles that took place in the Ypres Salient, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Passchendaele. For most of the war, the front line ran continuously from south of Zeebrugge on the Belgian coast, across Flanders Fields into the centre of Northern France before moving eastwards — and it was known as the Western Front.
The phrase originates from a poem titled In Flanders Fields by Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, inspired by his service during the Second Battle of Ypres. The fields were not maintained for years before they were made into a memorial. Today Flanders Fields is home to thousands of poppies.
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Found this while rummaging through some of my old poems. Decided not to edit it. Leave it as it was composed over 42 years ago..
Added the note for those not familiar with that battle and its horrific carnage, primarily from the insanity of large bodies of troops marching into direct machine gun fire.
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Note:
This poem was selected and requested for teaching purposes at Cambridge University. Permission was granted for educational use.... RJL
Categories:
flanders, conflict, death, fate, sorrow,
Form:
Sonnet
my brittle bones are like this fence, so built
on throes of horrors shrouded with the hilt
of war's inanely senseless blade, now dulled
by all the precious souls its edge has culled …
now ages gone, those boys amid their dreams
and yet the air still trembles with their screams
so daubed in bleeding sun, how death imparts
these fields of poppy roods and purple hearts.
~ For Lt Col John McCrae, and all life lost to war ~
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Purple 2" Poetry Contest, Kevin Shaw, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Contest 545 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
(In honor of the poem by Lt Col John McCrae, and all lives given to war).
Categories:
flanders, history, loss, war,
Form:
Rhyme
Parody of The Gas Man Cometh by Flanders and Swann
It was on a Monday morning the boiler man came to call
Said he’d return with spare parts - but I’d have to wait till fall
It was on a Tuesday morning the tax man came to call
I told him he could sling his hook - for I'd nothing left at all
It was on a Wednesday morning the banker came to call
I told him to get on his bike or he was heading for a fall
It was on a Thursday morning the psychiatrist came to call
I welcomed him into the lounge and left him staring at the wall
It was on a Friday morning the doctor came to call
He said there was no hope for me - the writing’s on the wall
It was on a Saturday morning the undertaker came to call
He took away my dead body – it’s of no use to me at all
It was on a Sunday morning the relatives finally came to call
To see what I’d left them in my will – I’d left them b***er all!
14th March 2015
The poem is based on the Flanders and Swann song ‘the Gas Man cometh’
This is the link in case you are interested in seeing the original
https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CB8QyCkwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DzyeMFSzPgGc&ei=_bMEVbLdOJLWapXSgZAK&usg=AFQjCNGdCkkRzF_J0uZ0gJyqE64BZHYS1w&sig2=sp627Tl2_zW3tc16E4_tvg&bvm=bv.88198703,d.d24
Categories:
flanders, humorous, parody,
Form:
Couplet
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
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8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Categories:
flanders, conflict, death, history, memorial,
Form:
Alliteration
A gentle wind asks
Answered, simply, why not still
Said family grieve
.
Categories:
flanders, anger, angst, horror, life,
Form:
Haiku
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
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8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Categories:
flanders, conflict, death, history, remembrance
Form:
Alliteration
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies grow;
Their roots reach down to twine amongst the bones,
The mouldering bones.
Each skull in grinning disbelief voices
Its eternal question, for what? And no answer comes,
No answer comes.
There are no lungs to find;
Long rotted from within, from gasping breaths of gas,
From choking gas.
No flesh remains to clothe the
Bones; torn from limbs by hammer blows of fate,
Cruel, indifferent fate.
No heroes these, but common men
Who selfless thought to serve, to do the right thing,
Unquestioned right thing.
Their souls now wait deep underground;
Deep amongst the rusting, shattered fragments of twisting Death,
Of youthful Death.
Only the Sun kissed faces red;
That wave upon the land above, serve to remind,
Ever remind us.
In Flanders fields the poppies grow.
(With acknowledgement for inspiration to Lt Col John McCrae)
To the memory of my Grandfather, who endured the Somme and spoke not a word of it. Each year, he and my Grandmother made thousands of poppies to sell on Armistice Day for the survivors of that Contemptible Little Army.
Categories:
flanders, anniversary, bereavement, betrayal, body,
Form:
Blank verse
War
atrocious, sanguinary
destructing ,frightening , excruciating
battlefield , troupers ,rosary~beads ,mediator
forgiving , loving ,uniting
harmonic,pristine
Peace
Charmaine Chircop
For Dr. Ram Mehta's contest (Diamante)
Categories:
flanders, analogy,
Form:
Diamante
Through Flanders fields old ghosts cry and weep
Through the petals of blood red poppies
Even the soaring birds mute their mournful cry
In deference to souls sacrificed in vain
The end of all wars was a prize worth dying for
Those that lie here never knew the truth
Blood that spewed from their shattered bodies
Never quenched the flames of awful war
Now they wave to a world that has forgotten them
From a bright red carpet in Sanctuary wood
Singing unheard songs of never reachable peace
In tongues varied but understandable to all
Categories:
flanders, warred,
Form:
Free verse
Red Poppies of Flanders
Digging trenches
Dawn to dusk
Forcing shovels
In the dust...
Weather's freezing
Clothes to skin
While it's raining,
Yet, again...
Rank and muddy
Head to toe
Slip and sliding
As we go...
The blinding lights
The deaf'ning sounds
The endless nights
In muddy grounds...
Trenches flooding
Through the ranks
Muddy waters
Breach the banks...
Wounds ooze bleeding
Muddy mix
Smell the Reaper
Reaching Styx...
Men and horses
Side by side
Some lay wounded
Others died...
Still we hold to
Fleeting hope
Among the shells
And stinking smoke...
Through fields of mud
And charred stick trees
Where nothing grows
Deep stained in blood...
But the poppy
Bright blood red
From these grounds
Of the dead...
These battle-scared
Fields' true price
Remembers All
Who sacrificed.
deborah burch©07.21.17
Categories:
flanders, soldier, veterans day, world
Form:
Rhyme
A duck slowly paddles across the still water,
Disturbing the reflection of brooding storm clouds
Above. The pond sits close to the top of the ridge;
Precisely round, there are no streams entering or
Leaving to explain its presence. Cold wind keens
Through the mis-shapen trees nearby; the thin sound
Is haunting, a threnody played by a distant piper.
A gust catches the loose board on a ruined farmhouse,
The sudden bang provoking a startled shiver.
Splashing rain against the cheek awakens dormant
Memories, and the landscape turns barren, a
Wasteland, the pond revealed as a smoking crater.
Vision clears. In the distance, a red poppy marks
Where the defiant piper fell, his lament for himself.
Categories:
flanders, death, memory, world war
Form:
Sonnet
[with apologies to Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae]
We are the winkers! Short days ago,
We played all night, until dawn's glow,
Squopped and were squopped: for here we go
In the Fields of Winks, to hop them low.
Categories:
flanders, death, flower, games, humor,
Form:
Quatrain
He fought
Strong and hard
He did
Especially since
He got that letter
He fought
As if
There was no tomorrow
Worth living for
It changed him
It saddened him
He used to laugh
Like a Kookaburra
Even among
All the whistles
Of impending death
Over there
On the Dardanelles
He’d be the one
To cheer the boys up
With a quick Joke
And a smoke
As he passed
In the trenches
But that soon changed
After he got
The letter
He didn’t speak of it
And I
Knew not to ask
It changed him
He fought with more
Vigour, bravery
After he got it
Always the first
To go over the top
Or to run the Nek
How he survived
God only knows
He once said
While he pattered
His breast
If I’m to die
It will tell you
And I knew
He meant
The letter
That sad day came
Not there
But on the fields of Flanders
I lay next to him
In the mud and misery
Shacking
Shacking him
“mate
Come on mate
We’ve come so far
Don’t leave me now
What am I to tell Nellie
I cried
Above the screams
Of shells and yells
On the fields of Flanders
It was only after
He was buried
That I took out
The letter
And read
Tis with great regret
We wish to inform you
Nellie has passed away
She fell from her horse
Mustering a mob
Down by the course
Was then
That I understood
The change
That came over him
Way back then
On the Dardanelles
I turn the letter
Over in my hands
To see
That he had written
If I
Am to die
A forlorn
And forgotten
Death
Upon a foreign shore
Please make sure
You return me
For
I wish
For you
To lay me
Upon
My dear Nellie’s
Breast
I remembered
After I had
Shakenly read
That I
Wanted to cry
But I
Had nothing left
To share or shed
Upon the fields of Flanders
I refold
The letter
And place it
Gently
At the base
Of Nellie’s
Headstone
As close I could
To her Breast
Categories:
flanders, death, war, wife,
Form:
Free verse
Sneak, sneak, power, power.
My little carton of milk.
God protects him.
All over the Ned.
Sneak, Sneak, twizzle of eye.
Light light, almost on.
Light, light, candle option.
Of course, rubbber.
Coming close.
Ned catches you.
Categories:
flanders, father, god,
Form:
Pastoral
Here we lie beneath the poppies
Blowing in the Flanders air
Do not forget our sacrifice
Do not forget that we were there
Young men forged in heat of battle
Neighbors, brothers, sons
Lost in time, with just our markers
Lost to lie, beneath the sun
Remember us as men of valor
Remember what we came to do
We came, and died, do not forget us
We gave our lives up, just for you
Forget us not, beneath the poppies
Where the sky is no longer dark
Remember us as long dead heroes
We came, we fought, we left our mark
Forget us not, please pass the torch on
Forget us not, more than this day
Forget us not, we were all soldiers
And we remain so....all the way!!!
Categories:
flanders, beautiful, military, remember, remembrance
Form:
Rhyme