Best Remembrance Day Poems
I left her behind
emaciated
I left her
dying
I left her
I left her
I wanted to die there with her
there in the desert
where I left my mother
there where the stench of the dead and the dying
filled the air
I left her
my other children dragging me on
the soldiers shouting
threatening..theatening
I had to go on...for the others
I left her
my little girl
who was too weak to speak
too weak to cry
my little girl
whom I smothered
knowing it would be quick
not wanting night to call
the animals to crawl
over her still living body
not wanting her to hear
the death wail of the old and frail
all around
I smothered her
and kept on walking
not hearing
not seeing
not smelling
not living
not breathing
I left her
I left my heart
I left my dreams
I left my tomorrow
and every yesterday
every memory
every hope
of a better day
I left her
and in that starless night
there in the desert
naked and bleeding
starving
shivering
I knew....
"the rest is silence."
Eileen Manassian
"The Rest is Only Silence" is from Shakespeare's Play...Hamlet. I, however, will not be silent about the Armenian Genocide. This is in memory of the 1.5 million Armenians who lost their lives in the Genocide of 1915.Though this is a fictitious write, the events depicted did happen during the Armenian Genocide in 1915 by the Ottoman Turks. One million and a half Armenians were marched into the desert in what has come to be known as the Death March. April 24 marks 101 years since that event. Not all countries have recognized the genocide. Unfortunately, America is one of them.
If you want to read an account of those days, read The Sandcastle Girls. Read of how woman were tied to stakes as the soldiers rode past on their horses and decapitated them. Read of how the orphaned children were gathered at night and put in caves and burned alive. Read of how the woman marched naked...their wounds festering, their hair matted...almost inhuman. Read of how women committed suicide rather suffer rape while others disfigured themselves to go unnoticed. History cannot deny the genocide. If justice is not served here...it will be....one day. God told Cain..."the blood of your brother Abel is crying out to me." The blood of these martyrs cries out today for recognition.
The time seems to wander, languishing here and there, jealous of the wind.
Sometimes it flies, to almost find it's end, even when you have barely started.
The terrible ones, they seem to standstill, so you can live them for a lifetime.
The boring ones, are not appreciated, yet can be missed on those wild rides.
The day listens, to no man or woman, it knows well what to surprise us with.
There are a few, in everyone's life, that will be remembered, that have no equal.
When all the luck, works its magic, to lift the spirits high, and love comes to call.
There are days when, we fly too close to the sun, that melts wings made of wax.
Some are breathtaking, when death is standing near, but it's just not your time.
The guardian angels, swoop low to carry away that day, that took a piece of you.
Every single day, we should live as our last, for each is the gift of a jealous god.
There are the nights, that follow the day, when the gods dream, of being a man.
And all of the days, when misfortune arrives, and you cry the whole night away.
Then comes that one day, you won't survive, when you pray for just one more.
And all that's left, is to drift off and relive the ones, you wished would never end!
The symbol of remembrance is the red poppy
When I look upon it, this is what I see,
I see courage, sacrifice and extreme bravery
See thousands enlisting to defend their country.
I see other nationalities, every colour and creed
Who came to help England in her hour of need
I see water filled trenches with deep mud and rain
I see flashes of gunfire and hear the wounded in pain.
I see and hear the big guns that sound like thunder
I see a Europe at war slowly being torn asunder
I see the deadly yellow clouds of dense mustard gas
Hear the cries of those poor souls breathing their last.
I see the battles that were won and some that were lost
I hear the sounds of victory that came at a great cost
I see the graves of the fallen who gave us that victory
Remembering the sacrifice they made for their country.
I feel the pain of the mothers who gave us their sons
At wars end feel the peace when they silenced the guns
We mourn all those that died and for them we must pray
But war is not the answer we must seek a better way.
When you wear your poppy always do so with pride
Honour two minutes silence for the brave fallen who died.
So the next time that you look upon that little red poppy
Just pause for a moment and tell me what you see.
Written 16th May 2018.
There is a field that we all know
That passed a torch where Soldiers go
Those that fell fought to the end
From that field they did ascend
To look upon the light relay
That made us free free this day
Rest in peace we do remember
This is done eleven November
In a field that's now a lot
Rows of cars I did spot
In the air a poppy blowing
Where I wonder is it going
Among the maple leaves that fell
This poppies color blended well
Lost it there but for a moment
Young child's find leaves bestowment
Conferred unknown mom what's this?
This my child so we don't miss
Small reminder Veterans that passed
So all can live in peace ever last
A dry and barren moat
around historic tower, London’s pride
for many years in restful dormant mood
dreaming of days gone by
when swords clashed and armour creaked;
the yells and screams of battle filled the air.
Testament of courage and pain;
did those who fought there die in vain?
A dry and barren moat
now back to life to mark Remembrance Day
with a gushing flow of poppies dressed in red
reflecting thoughts of Flanders.
Who dedicates these scarlet blooms,
to souls that rest in earthen tombs?
A dry and barren moat
its open bleeding heart that drips with recollections
of destructive devastation and needless deaths.
Governments rise only to fall;
cries still trapped in the tower's wall.
A dry and barren moat
where visitors now see the red carpet
in place to praise bravery.
Haven't families of lost soldiers
earned a red carpet too?
Let them saunter somberly
above the moat, across the fields.
Such is the costly price of war;
buried loved ones we'll see no more.
A dry and barren moat
encases the historic tower,
a silhouette reminder at sunset
that no one wins a war.
A lone bugle plays taps;
it resounds through the crisp air.
A sad family walks away,
leaving tears on a floral spray.
---------------------------------------------------
Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire (Nov. 2014)
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.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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).
Grey gravestones stand erect like soldiers.
Fallen heroes in nameless graves,
they fought for king and country
and paid a heavy price
with their precious lives.
We should give thanks
and pray for
those who
died.
*gravestones classed as 2 syllables NOT 3 as per how many syllables
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Form N Ninette or Nonet
04~21~17
Some came by air
Some came by sea
They fought and died
So we could be free
The 6th of June 1944
Normandy a place in France
Operation Overlord or Neptune
Thousands took their last stance
Parachutists and gliders and
boats of all size
Thousands of soldiers met their demise
156,115 allied soldiers took part this way
75 years ago on D DAY
The beaches to name a few were called
Omaha, Utah, Juno and Sword
The largest allied beach invasion to date
So many died because of fate
10,500 allied casualties in one day
Fought for our freedom all I can say
Respect, hats of sir where it's due
I and others will remember you
REMEMBER RESPECT
Rows of black with vivid splash of red,
heads bow down at the tolling of the bell
lined up like granite stones that mark the dead,
a silent testament to those who fell.
Thoughts and hearts together march in time,
back to those muddy trenches filled with rain,
one's soul lashed by the whip of every chime,
one's freedom doing penance for their pain.
With faces set, inside we give a cry
as bugle cuts the silence for the lost,
for answer to the simple question why
peace always comes at such a dreadful cost.
The war to end all wars, no lesson learned
as through the Middle East the fires burn
november skies over poppy fields
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Nights grow longer,
stars in flamed blue,
the luscious trees waving away-
with boughs so plump,
ripeness is due,
and dreamy strolls light up the bay...
How the breeze jiggles, toes are bare
on sandy coasts, ioys are night's grace
then 'round I go to our town's fair
and cherish all of summer's blaze!
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Jamie Pan's Contest 2/23/2017
Theme 6: Reflections on a window
Two teens shoveling snow that February day,
wanting to hurry up so they could play,
quickly shoveling heaping piles of snow,
into an open 1935 NYC manhole,
Seeing something move down in the hole,
both teens thought "holy mole!"
yelling theres a gator down in there,
wanting to help it out they showed little fear,
Getting a clothesline they helped drag it out,
an 8 foot alligator with a toothy snout,
loosening the line the gator snapped,
while the teens were busy watching their backs,
But both boys were taken aback by the attack,
and decided to give the gator some whacks,
both killing it with their work snow shovels,
whereupon the gator didn't give them anymore trouble,
Now in NYC every February 10th,
the people are reminded of how that day was spent,
with a bronze gator pulling a man down in the manhole,
a quirky subway commemoration reminder for one and all.
4-6-17
Standing tall dressed in regalia
twenty-one gun salute detonates
a lump lodged deep in my throat
combination pride sorrow and so much more
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Fields of red, of poppy leaf
The fields where so many brave came to grief
Brave men indeed who refused to kneel
To give freedom to others, we remember them still
Fields of red, of poppy leaf
For Those men and boys who passed we grieve
The light extinguished in their eyes
But the dream of freedom was realised
Fields of red, of Poppy leaf
Freedom for all was their belief
This is the gift that they bestowed
The gift they gave as their lifeblood flowed
Fields of red, of Poppy leaf
Years have passed and still we grieve
We remember the fallen, the brave that have gone
The men and women all standing as one.
The Fields of red, of Poppy leaf…
Armistice day 11/11
He comes quickly through the back door
Weary from wearing his faded hood
And we welcome him warmly once more
As all caring humans ever should
His illness we know too well to be
Many years he’s spent with us
He continues enduring the HIV
Over him our kind team makes a fuss
If only some people could just understand
Then silence for good their hard gavel
They would truly experience a beautiful man
And their judgments of him would unravel
For he needs their acceptance especially now
As the road is increasingly rough
And what is important is not the “how”
But let love and support be enough
Then his thirty year’s journey won’t come to an end
As the sun again bathes his dear face
And at last his long broken spirit can mend
Ever free to be safe in this place