Short Flanders Poems
Short Flanders Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Flanders by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Flanders by length and keyword.
Stones standing stones
Arranged in rows or circles
They tell a tale of ending
And eternal turning
To the burning
Gravities
They hold
And
Are
Form:
[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.
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.
Filling his verse with metaphor
Vers libre,not metre was the core,
He lit the fuse and walked away-
So little did his talent yield,for
He left his light on Flanders Field
Tribute to T E Hulme 1883-1917 initiator/catalyst of the Imagist form
Filling his verse with metaphor
Vers libre,not metre was the core,
He lit the fuse and walked away-
So little did his talent yield,for
He left his light on Flanders Field
Tribute to T E Hulme 1883-1917 initiator/catalyst of the Imagist form
In a muddy flanders field
A lonely flower blooms red
Tears of falling rain for those,
Who were left as dead.
They came as boys ,died as men,
Heroes all who fought a war,
Against others just like them,
Wondering what they were fighting for.
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)
re post inspired by Constance contest
Filling his verse with metaphor
Vers libre,not metre was the core,
He lit the fuse and walked away-
So little did his talent yield,for
He left his light on Flanders Field
Tribute to T E Hulme 1883-1917 initiator/catalyst of the Imagist form
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.
In flanders fields,
The fields of woe,
The moon shine down,
Upon our foe.
The wars at end,
A truce we've come upon,
The light goes dim,
And the morn will dawn.
In fanders fields
When poppies die
The grave of dead
Soon will lie
More fall to death
The dead has grown
In flanders fields
The fields alone
Form:
You are a bandage for the wounded,
for blooded sanguine offerings.
Hussain Grey for well routined soldiers
in the trench fields of Flanders
gallant to a point of duty
Grey I see you sulking,
cowardly marches
on weeping willow lined roads
cherished that only once
to storm away
unable to make amends
for your dun colour
Moni Peal and Beau Ideal.
Rode the Paris Ferris Wheel.
It was love at first glance.
She's the fairest lass in France.
Beau asked Moni for her hand.
Though it was a flash, Romance.
Three hundred made the wedding Dance.
Half of Flanders was entranced.
As it passed mere happenstance.
Is it not the Grand Parlance?
I did not raise a son
to die alone
on Flanders field,
his precious life to yield.
I raised a son
to grow in stature,
to stand, mature
at life's rich threshold
not to die
amid spent bullets.
I raised a son
to outlive me
not to be
one of a thousand
faceless heroes
fallen in a foreign land
I raised my son
to grow into a man.
Form:
Time of the year when poppies bloom
Turning the flowering meadow scarlet
Reminds of a famous poem of gloom,
Time of the year when poppies bloom
In Flanders Field there’s no more room
Where loved ones felt a bitter comfort,
Time of the year when poppies bloom
Turning the flowering meadow scarlet.
Written May 5, 2022
There is a door in the sky
For those who wish to escape
From the nurse`s worried glance
To red lights that turn in the street
From the soft tread of a priest`s shoe
To a latinate fast finger of magic
From the over-the-top of Flanders
To the heavens that play dice
This is more life than you`ll ever need;
For those who wish to escape
There is a door in the sky.
(“Field of Dreams - Flanders 1917”, 2020, original oil)
HellBent
Rumors of war, hard-ons for war
Bad dreams and perverse fantasies
Driving dirty old men forward into battle.
For at least someone to do
And have done to them.
Just as a real peace is on the horizon
The machines of war come to life
Preparing the ground for harvest
To supply the hawks and crows
Their carnage.
(11/25/24)
A generation gone too soon, each tank, batallion or platoon;
They went with glory on their mind, and left the ones they loved behind;
A slaughter on a massive scale, at Flanders, Ypres and Passchendaele;
They marched into the fiercest fights, to defend their countries and protect our rights;
Still formed in rows as on parade, their ranks are now formed up in graves;
In Belgium, Holland and in France, salute them for rememberance.
' In Flanders fields the poppies blow,
between the crosses, row on row'.
So wrote the poet John McCrae,
recording the reality of his day.
Now after ninety four years have gone,
our use of the poppy has moved on.
instead of remembrance of the brave,
it sends millions to an early grave,
and today our young troops fight and die,
with many asking the question, why?
To protect the flowers in Helmand's fields,
this plant,today, such power wields!
Listen to poem:
The barbed wires gone the craters filled in
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
men's tears have been wiped and burials done
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
young men died because old men lied
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
A nation bows its head in prayer this day
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
stop the killing end these wars
and you will not need poppy's in a hundred years .
It`s just a little flower
painted red and green
it reminds us of our Veterans
both the living and the dead
In the year of thirty nine
young men went off to war
some of them came back
others will return no more
These young mengave their lives
so freedom they coud save
now they`re buried over there
in the unknown soldiers grave
it is now november and
thoughts they turn to snow
but lets remember Flanders Fields
wher the poppies grow
(“Field of Dreams - Flanders 2017”, 2020, original oil)
We live in an age of extreme selfishness
An age where empowerment
Choice and determination
Are the key words
To make us feel good
About making it all about ourself.
But the truth remains
Regardless of how independent
We want to be
There are others who care about us
As much as and sometimes more
Than we care about ourselves.
And at some point
We come to realize
Our lives are actually about them.
(11/11/25)