National poetry day

[Warwick1957]

I was never alone as I lay in that bomb crater,

Waiting for death which surely would come later,

With mud everywhere,

And lice in my hair,

My only visitors were shells from up high;

Which could’ve brought death in a blink of an eye,

Red hot shrapnel exploding all around

Ripping through bodies as I lay flat on the ground,

When the whistle blew I went over the top

But took a bullet and had to stop. 

Sent back home to convalesce 

But soon sent back to that terrible mess,

No pals left, they’d all gone

In that hell they called The Somme

 

Shaking with fear, clutching my steel hat,

There’s something I feared more than that.

 It was the mist that crept from all around;

The deadly killer that made no sound,

Snaking everywhere with its acrid smell,

No worse terror could be found in hell,

It burned into my eyes and my lungs it did fill,

Blistering skin and trying to kill,

Gas! Gas! Gas! was the call feared most,

As it drifted around like an unholy ghost,

Its tentacles searching for its next prey,

Even the horses & rats it did slay,

Fear everywhere and terror it spread,

It even killed those asleep in their bed. 

 

I did my bit for dear old Blighty

And soon pleaded above to God Almighty

Oh dear God why do you not look after your flock?

It’s no surprise that I was committed with shell-shock! 

I rarely look back afraid what I’ll find,

In the horrors stored in my mind,

Suppose I was lucky to survive back in those days,

But night terrors bring back that evil haze,

Of the gas looking to find me and widow my wife,

I’ll remember the screams of my pals for my the rest of my life,

And hope future generations always remember

What wearing a poppy means on the eleventh of November.

 

 

Warwick 

For grandad shot, gassed, committed with shell-shock, discharged 1919,lived with us till he passed in the 60’s with 1 lung, smoking Woodbines and always deep in thought - a lovely fella.