Tag Archives: poem

Thanks to All the People. A poem

I don’t usually write in free verse, but this time I’ve made an exception. Here’s my poem of thanks to a variety of people.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Thanks to all the people
Who broke the lockdown rules.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to all the people
Who went to parties at New Year.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everybody
Who ran away from London as Tier 4 arrived.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everybody
Who wears masks below the nose.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everyone
Who fails to wash their hands.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to the man
Who removed his mask to cough.
Thanks for spreading the virus,

Thanks to the people
Who fled Switzerland to avoid quarantine.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everybody
Who does not obey 2 metres.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to everyone
Who filled the beaches in summer.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to the people who went on demonstrations.
Thanks for spreading the virus.

Thanks to all those people
Who kept us all indoors.
Thanks to all the people
Who ruined kids education.
Thanks to all the people
Who made life more lonely
For all those living alone.
Thanks to all the people
Who made those with mental illness worse.
Thanks to all the people
Who spoiled Christmas and New Year.
Thanks to all the people
Who flew away for a birthday.

But

Thanks to all key workers
For putting your lives in danger.
Thanks to porters, and ambulance drivers.
Thanks to nurses and doctors.
Thanks to cleaners and radiographers.
Thanks to physiotherapists.
Thanks to all who work in our hospitals.
Thanks to farmers and supermarket workers.
For putting food on our tables.
Thanks to teachers
For working hard
To continue educating children
On line.
Thanks to refuse collectors
For keeping us safe from disease.
Thanks to the police
Who continue to protect us.
Thanks to everyone who is still working.

After Sangatte: Based On Sea Fever By John Masefield #poem #poetry

A clever and poignant take on John Masefield’s poem.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

Where I’ll await their call, fighting fear, holding my head up high.

I set my face, as bland as milk against those hollowed eyes

And think of how we seek a truth, neat-wrapped in hideous lies.

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armistice Day

Today, 11th November, is the day that the armistice was declared after World War 1. I am commemorating it by republishing a post I posted before.

In 2018 there was a lot about World War 1, not surprisingly as it was the 100th anniversary. I was inspired to write this poem in memory of my wonderful grandfather who fought in Gallipoli.

I suspect not many people know the British troops fought there, too. We hear a lot about the brave Australian and New Zealand men, but not much about our own troops.

We Will Remember Them.

I’ll never truly understand
How World War I began.
The death of Archduke Ferdinand
Started the deaths of many more,
The young, the old, the rich, the poor.
All died with guns in hand.

My Grandad went with Uncle Jim
And Our Poor Willie, too.
They sent them off, singing a hymn.
Grandad went to Gallipoli,
Uncle Jim left his love, Polly.
Gas in trenches did kill him.

I cannot see, in my mind’s eye
Grandad with gun in hand.
A peaceful man, sent out to die.
He fought for us, for you and me
So we can live and so that we
Safely in our beds may lie.

Grandad came home, and Willie too,
But millions more did not.
Their duty they all had to do.
They died in fear, in noise, in blood.
Everything was caked in mud.
Yet in those fields the poppies grew.

The War to end all wars, they said,
So terrible were the deaths.
The youth of Europe all lay dead.
Yet 21 short years to come
Another war. Once more a gun
In young men’s hands brought death.

One hundred years have passed since then.
What have we learned? Not much!
Too many men are killing men.
Wars still abound around the world.
Bombs and missiles still are hurled
At those who disagree with them.

a poem about a storm

I was staying in Germany, near Leipzig a few years ago in order to go to a concert in the Thomaskirke. On our way back to the hotel, there was a tremendous thunderstorm. I was inspired to write the following poem.

The Storm

A lovely day, the sun was warm
It had shone on us since dawn.
The heat oppressed us all the day,
Even as in bed we lay.

We went to Leipzig in the heat.
In Thomaskirke we took our seat
To hear St John by J.S.Bach.
It did not end till after dark.

When we emerged it was in rain.
We rushed to find our car again.
The thunder rolled across the sky,
The lightning flashed, but now we’re dry.

We drove toward Chemnitz and saw
O’er Dresden, flashes like the War.
Was it ’45 again
With bombs falling like the rain?

The lightning flashed, the thunder boomed.
We thought that we were surely doomed’
It must at least be Armageddon,
Such brightness in a sky so leaden.

The storm went on for several hours
Showing nature’s awesome powers
And even though it scared us some
We were impressed. It struck us dumb.

Spring. A Poem

110daffodils

Dandelions, like gold, cover the meadows.
Newborn lambs frolic in fields.
New leaves on the trees are casting their shadows
And winter’s cold grip quickly yields.

At the edges of woodland the primroses glow
And cowslips their scent fills the air.
Anemones dance when the breezes do blow
And birds sing with never a care.

Then bluebells and campions come into bloom
Their colour the blue of the sea.
The cuckoo, that herald of spring, will come soon
His call echoing over the lea.

The song of the blackbird is like molten gold.
His notes are so pure and so clear.
Hearing him seems to banish the cold
And brings joy to all those who hear.

Robin is nesting, and other birds too,
The hedgehog is active once more.
The young of the deer and the badger and shrew
Play their games as in old days of yore.

The sun climbs higher and higher each day
Giving more of his heat and his light.
It sparkles like stars fallen into the bay.
All smile at the beautiful sight.

Hope and excitement come with each spring morn.
What blessings will come with this day?
New starts can begin once again with each dawn
And send us all hopeful away.

Samhain. A Poem

Samhain is the pagan pre-curser to what we now call Hallowe’en. It was thought that on the nights of the equinox the veil separating the world of the dead from our own world thinned, and the dead could come through.

Not all the dead were consindered scary, though. The people thought that their recent dead visited them, and they put out food, or set an extra place at the table to accommodate them. These dead came to see their loved ones were going on alright.

Evil spirits, though, could come through, too, and so bonfires were lit to keep them at bay. The home fires were put out, too, to be relit the following day from the bonfires.

Pope Gregory decided that some of the pagan dates should be incorporated into the Christian calendar as psople were used to celebrating on those days. Samhain was one of these. The Pope designated it to be All Saint’s Day, hence the night before became All Hallow’s Eve. (Hallows being another word for ‘holy’ or ‘saint’.)

Pope Gregory also fixed the date of Christmas to co-incide with the pagan festival of Yule, and turned some of the pagan gods into saints. He also used pagan worshiping sites to build Christian churches, on the same principal. People were used to going there to worship.

Here is a poem I wrote for Samhain. I hope you like it.

ghost-50055_1280

SAMHAIN

Don’t go near the graveyard, darling,
Samain is tonight.
Don’t go near the graveyard, darling,
The dead will walk this night.

Keep your candle burning, darling,
Keep it glowing bright.
Keep your candle burning, darling,
Be sure it gives you light.

The bonfires have been lit, darling,
To fill the dark with light.
The bonfires have been lit, darling,
Their flames reach such a height.

Put your home fires out, darling.
Be sure to do it right.
Put your home fires out, darling.
From bonfires we’ll relight.

Put food by the door, darling.
Leave it in plain sight.
Put food by the door, darling.
For our own to have a bite.

Do not be afraid, darling,
They see that we’re alright.
Do not be afraid, darling,
No harm from them tonight.

But evil spirits come, darling.
We must put them to flight.
But evil spirits come, darling;
Them we must try to fight.

Go and watch the bonfires, darling.
Stand in their bright light.
Go and watch the bonfires, darling,
They keep us safe this night.

I hope you enjoyed my poem. Please leave a comment.

The Storm

A lovely day, the sun was warm
It had shone on us since dawn.
The heat oppressed us all the day,
Even as in bed we lay.

110exteriorstthomasleipzig

We went to Leipzig in the heat.
In Thomaskirke we took our seat
To hear St John by J.S.Bach.
It did not end till after dark.

When we emerged it was in rain.
We rushed to find our car again.
The thunder rolled across the sky,
The lightning flashed, but now we’re dry.

 

germany-870135_1280

We drove towards Chemnitz and saw
O’er Dresden, flashes like the War’
Was it ’45 again
With bombs falling like the rain?

The lightning flashed, the thunder boomed.
We thought that wewere surely doomed’
It must at least be Armageddon,
Such brightness in a sky so leaden.

lightning

The storm went of for several hours
Showing nature’s awesome powers
And even though it scared us some
We were impressed. It struck us dumb.

 

If you liked my poem, which was written after an actual storm in Germany, please add a comment and I’ll get back to you. If you woul like to re-blog it I would be very grateful.

England–A Poem

tree-402953_1280

That misty isle across the sea
Will always be a home to me.
The cliffs of white that guard our shores,
The rolling Downs, the bleak, cold moors,
The skylark with his liquid song
Soaring high above the throng
Of hikers, picnickers and such,
Whose hearts he never fails to touch.

The little streams and brooks do run
Through woodlands, glistening in the sun.
The little fish are swimming here;
A kingfisher is always near.
A flash of blue above the stream,
A dive–then gone, that silver gleam
Of minnows. Gone to feed his brood
In holes, all waiting for their food.

In cities where the pigeons fly
The wind-blown litter flutters by.
The cars and buses, cycles too,
Line up at lights, forming a queue.
The city’s clamorous roar assaults
The ears, but never, ever halts.
The busy folk all rushing past
They never slow, time goes so fast.

The little market towns do snooze.
The slightest little thing is news.
In pretty villages with greens
Are cottages with oaken beams.
The church bells echo o’er the fields
Calling us with merry peals
As they have done for many a year
Bringing hope and lots of cheer.

This land does not a climate boast,
Just weather, blown from coast to coast.
All in one day this land can get
All four seasons, sun and wet.
Though no extremes do us attack
Do not go out without a mac
For rain can come at any time,
Though rarely with a gale force nine.

The English folk are stubborn, too
As we evinced in World War two.
We do not push, but stand in line
Waiting patiently ’til it’s time.
We do not wail and wave our arms,
For such behaviour has no charms.
But when we’re roused, then just watch out!
We’ll demonstrate, wave flags and shout.

And so my country is unique;
Its people are not really meek.
An upper lip that’s stiff conceals
A wicked humour that reveals
Our lack of deference for power,
Our love for bird and bee and flower.
Abroad may have its charms, it’s true
But England’s magic’s ever new.

V.M.Sang
April 2014

 

 

The Legend of Grillon and Parador.

 

 

Grillon and Parador are two of the gods of Vimar, the world I created when I started to write The Wolves of Vimar Series.

Grillon is the god of Nature and wild things and Parador is the goddess of Agriculture. The legend is told each year on the first day of spring, which is also the start of the year on Vimar. The first month of the year is called after Grillon, and is known as Grilldar. It falls roughly the same time as mid-March to mid-April on Earth.

I hope you enjoy this poem, which also appears in the first book of The Wolves of Vimar, The Wolf Pack. The friends spend this day in Roffley on their way to find the Sword of the legendary king, Sauvern, who united the land of Grosmer.

On the eve of Grildar, morality is lax, and there are many children conceived at this time. They are considered as blessed, though, and are thought of as the children of the god, and not conceived of human males.

parador

Legend of Grillon and Parador

One day the Lord of Nature was walking all alone
When beside a hidden pool a lovely sight was shown.
For bathing in the moonlight, where no-one should have been
Was a beauteous maiden, the loveliest he’d e’er seen.

Lord Grillon lost his heart to her
This maiden oh so fair.
He vowed that she would be his own
His life with her would share.

He showed himself at once to her
As forward he did tread.
She said “And who are you, good sir?
Should you not be abed?”

Oh lovely maid, my love, my life,
I ne’er will rest again.
Unless you come to be my wife
My heart will feel such pain.”

And so fair Parador was wed
To Grillon. She agreed
To always sleep within his bed
And others ne’er to heed.

But evil now will turn to dust
That love and bliss
For Barnat after her did lust
And swore she’d be his.

He poisoned Grillon’s mind and said
She was untrue
That she had been into his bed
And others too.

Lord Grillon he was truly sad
That she should treat him so.
He thought that he’d go truly mad
So far from her he’d go.

Now Parador had done no wrong
To deserve this fate.
She could not any more be strong
Beneath Lord Grillon’s hate.

So mourn she did and all the world
Did join with her in sorrow.
All green things died and creatures curled
All safely in their burrow.

But in good time, Lord Grillon found
How false the god of war.
He came to her and he reclaimed
The love of his wife once more.

So once again the land grew green
And springtime came again.
And summer’s warmth and life serene
While she forgot her pain.

And so each year the land remembers
The love of Parador
And autumn comes and winter’s embers
Till Spring returns once more.