Monday, November 13, 2006

Remembering in Beta

Ok, so this is what happens when you switch. It's ok. I rather like this template too. I thought I might start posting the odd poem here, just to see how it goes. If anyone visits, I'd be glad to hear from you!

This poem was written at this time of year, but a few years ago. George died not long after taking part in the TV programme on which I saw him. Count this as my poppy for this year.

GEORGE 1998

The strong young face is yet
Visible, hardly blurred by
The eighty-year journey from
Passchendaele. Inane questions seem
Impertinent, but age has brought patience.
‘I were a strappin’ lad.’
And this self-knowledge had
Catapulted him into
Hell. Stripped of friends by
Hot shards of death he has
Persisted through three more generations.
Now a little child shall
Lead him through the neat
City of the dead to meet again
A friend still young.
Dear God, when the end
Comes quietly, how will he explain?


© C.M.M. 12/11/98

4 comments:

An Honest Man said...

No bad!

duffy said...

"Catapulted him into
Hell. Stripped [...]"

Love it! An excellent visual expression. Especially like the way you have situated the word 'hell'. I can hear myself teaching this...

meika said...

explain?

And this self-knowledge had
Catapulted him into
Hell.


And this self-catapult had helled him into knowledge.

(seems to be the keyline, thought my adjustment up before I saw the comments!)

Chris said...

Meika - he know himself that a "strapping lad" such as himself had a duty to go into the trenches. I heard him say this about how strong he was with a sort of wry smile - as if he realised what he had let himself in for.