Saturday, 3 May 2014
Well, April, Poetry Month, is over and LINES has published the required 'poem a day' and is was really enjoyable - we hope you enjoyed reading them. We took three themes - the first was Trees (our whizzy JJ had taken some pictures of trees in North London which provided the stimulus for a set of poems), the second was related to World War 1 and our thoughts and memories about it and the last set was just a mixed set of things. JJ is now going to publish all three sets as 3 booklets (as we did last year). We hope you like them.
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Lest we Forget
A quarter of a million underage young British soldiers
Fought in World War One.
Each one, one in a million – each one gone.
Journalists arrested or outlawed at the front,
Threatened with execution
For publishing unpatriotic pollution.
Over a quarter of a million women working on the land,
An army in the landscape.
Each one, one in a million – a new role taking shape.
Nurses arrested and executed saving other’s lives.
Medicine in its early days,
Moving into another phase.
A million horses sent over to the trenches,
Mules and dogs on guard.
Each one, one in a million – a life that is scarred.
Objectors, pacifists, those with different views.
Too old, too young, or simply disinclined -
Labelled by society - some heroes, some maligned.
Disabled, grannies or mothers waiting for the news,
Scientists and engineers expanding knowledge and the mind,
Shop-keepers, farmers, all those who were left behind.
Over 37 million casualties – civilian or in uniform -
Statistics are unclear.
Each one, one in a million – but each one someone dear.
And dear the cost to one and all
Will we ever the lesson learn?
Do not forget them, one and all
For each is our concern.
By Linda Prince
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
The Calendar changes from day to day
And the gossip drives me mad.
I tidy up my desk
And the others think I’m mad.
They come with coffee in paper cup
And they never do a thing.
I clearing tyrannical emails,
They let the phone just ring.
They watch the time and go to lunch
But they never seem to return.
I take down endless messages
And for freedom I yearn.
The Calendar is flipped over
Pretending as they feign
When the boss walks by, the bell rings
And tomorrow we’ll do it all again.
By Linda Prince