Tag: Poetry

11th November – Remembrance Day

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11th November – Remembrance Day

Poppies, photo by JMorton

Do not forget to stop for a couple of minutes today at 11:am and say a quick thanks and prayers honouring all those in the armed forces from the first war to the present.

Remembrance Day is also called Poppy Day and Armistice Day. It is commemorated by members of the commonwealth countries since the end of the first World War when Germany signed the armistice agreement ending the war at the eleventh hour.

The poppy became an emblem for Remembrance Day because it grew in places where blood flowed during the first world war. The red flower symbolises the blood spilled.

A Canadian military doctor and artillery commander, John McCrae, penned a poem after conducting a burial service.

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

When You Are Old – William Butler Yeats

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images (23)When You Are Old – William Butler Yeats

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

– William Butler Yeats

This poem is so poignant and affecting. True love has no bounds, not age nor death. It just goes on through the end of time.

It seems to say that death is not the end of love but just another phase. Love is eternal, it just leave for somewhere but it will always be there waiting and watching!!!

How romantic

THE ARROW AND THE SONG – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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I was the pretentious “English” speaker in our family. I’ve always loved literature. I’ve always loved poetry too.

One my favourite poems of all time was actually introduced to me by my sister, Marilou when we were young. She said that she read a poem by Longfellow which she liked so much. It was called the Arrow and the Song. She liked it so much that she instinctively knew parts of the poem. I did find the poem and appreciated it so much too but the poem will always remind me of my dear sister, whom songs of pride, honour, caring and more adjectives that I can think of should be written.

To the kindest, most intelligent, beautiful sister, I dedicate this favourite poem to you.

THE ARROW AND THE SONG – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow catniss

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Funeral Blues – WH Auden

West

Wystan Hugh Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

This poem became more popular when Rowan Atkinson read it in Four Weddings and a Funeral.