Flanders Poems - Poems about Flanders

The once battlefields of Flanders Were soon clothed with Poppy red Perhaps a natural reflection of All the blood that had been shed. The War Cemeteries laid out In lines of stones or crosses A constant stark reminder of The scale of a nation’s losses. Each bearing rank and name Just brutally stating the fact Listing the tragedy of a war And it’s...

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This was once a sea of mud Where thousands bled! Before it reverted to! A field of Flanders Poppy Red. Do lines of ghostly squaddies! Plough through ethereal mire! In an endless quest to! Charge the enemy barbed wire. Do Mill Bombs explode! As machine guns bark! Sending many of the brave! Into death's final dark. How many bodies sank Into that...

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Where once the mighty timid Flanders soldier shook Bathed in foriegn mud underfoot All but one and two a man Hard fought and pressed with bayonets clenched in hand abreast expedient beating pumping chest Side by side shoulder deep To breach to cross go over top To run and face a hail of rapid bullets And fall beside my brethren brother's called selflessly to arms For...

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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...

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Flanders In the dawn over Flanders Wounded horses move no more And dead soldiers look small. The stillness is fragile beautiful. Soldiers in dugouts smoke Eat from cans Waits for another the fighting To commence. God sighs deeply He had given us a free will He had been rash Regrets his frivolities....

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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...

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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...

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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...

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[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....

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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...

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FLANDERS LAMENTED In NAM we watched rare shrapnel bloom no fields of poppies marked our doom. So trusting we marched forth to save yielding grief’s flowers at every grave. Those alive cannot console friends who lay in forlorn peace through out each day. The only answer for each to die, far from Flanders Fields do I lie. The lighted torch in star strewn skies no...

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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...

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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....

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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,...

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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;...

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