All posts by pollyspiralympics

I am an author who is passionate about bullying - especially of children, so I go into schools with Polly, one of my characters and deliver the message that bullying isn't cool, being a bully's just for the fool.

And once it was all over…

Those who did come home were changed forever. but too many never reached their home shores again. I like on Armistice Day to particularly remember those who never came home.

bike

Here I will sit for all eternity

It’s cold…… ice cold,

Lichens cover it completely, it’s so old;

Letters and numbers carved into its face,

Lined up like soldiers, alone in this place.

 

I sit cross legged in front of one stone,

Until I realize, I sit here alone;

The grass beneath me is soft, cool damp moss,

As I gaze at the letters lying under the cross.

 

Staring at a name; in fact it’s my name

When suddenly I realize, that’s why I came

To look at the carvings cut deep in the stone,

And comprehend that name, that name is my own.

 

I sit here each day, not aware of the time,

But knowing the flowers by the graveside are mine.

Murdered and killed in the pouring rain,

Now I know how I was slain.

 

For I was taken ahead of my time,

Cut down by a gun at the height of my prime,

The trigger was pulled with no remorse,

I fought hard to live, but in the end died of course.

 

It was raining that day, the day that I died,

When men wept for comrades, and the women they cried,

The battlefield ran with rivers of blood,

And dead bodies piled in high in a human flood

 

It’s quiet now as I sit in front of this tombstone,

With a name carved upon it, a name that’s my own.

The graveyard’s now called a War Cemetery,

And here I will sit for all eternity.

LEST WE FORGET – he never came home

 

The War at Home…

At home too, women had to take the place of men in the factories, and fields.

Back home too they said goodbye and waited.

Forgotten Heroes

– Women of war –

 

They stood at the train station, blowing kisses with love,

Waiting and waiting for the train to move off;

Sending their loved ones off to the war,

Men and boys leaving families they adored.

 

They wrote of love, loving and lust,

Waiting and waiting as his clothes gathered dust,

Not knowing where or how he might be,

Or whether each other again they would see.

 

It’ll be over soon, letters home would reply,

Waiting and waiting as long days drifted by;

No news was a killer, destroyed theirs souls,

Days with no end left them lonely and cold.

 

Women with children and babes in the womb,

Waiting and waiting for him to come home;

But how will he be when his war is over,

The same man who left, husband, lover?

 

War gardens planted and children schooled,

Waiting and waiting, but nobody was fooled

As summer was replaced by winter’s cold,

The rhetoric of leaders futile and old.

 

Women built planes, bombs and ammunition,

But inside waiting and waiting with anticipation

For that telegram to come that all women dread,

The one saying MIA or worse he was dead.

 

 Those women kept going by loyalty and love,

Waiting and waiting for a sign from above

That he was safe and still coming home,

Not dead in the trenches, abandoned…… alone

 

It was quiet in the street when the postman passed by,

For some the waiting and waiting was over with a cry

Of anguish and loss of their brave men,

Who would never come and see them again.

 

They stood at the station, hugging and kissing,

Then waiting and waiting as a loved one went missing,

Now his war is over and she was so brave,

The children never seeing her weep at his grave.

 

Today I say to those women of war,

Who waited and waited for the loved ones they adored;

We do not forget, you were sad lonely and blue,

But today I am here, strong, healthy because of you.

 

 

Lest we forget…

They all went to war, British, Canadian, South African, Turks, Indians, Germans, Russians, Aussies and New Zealanders. Not all returned. The futile carnage on both side was just madness.

Futility of War

 

Blood flows though the battlefields of time,

each drop shed,

another life lost to the inhumanity of man against man.

 

Time has born witness to all of man’s wars,

each battle a circle as men strive to out flank,

out manoeuvre, out kill their enemy.

 

In the beginning, weapons were simple…..

…. a blade to cut and thrust

…. an arrow to fly fast and true

But with the passage to time –

…. cannons, guns, grenades, bombs, missiles, rockets;

…. and with it?

Dirt; disease; distress and death!

 

Until a red river flows right to our doorstep,

touching all our lives, as it steals away our loved ones,

the very essence of our souls sucked dry as we fight against fellow brother.

 

The blood of the youth, staining the hands of all who play a part in this Ideal of Victory!

 

And where shall it lead us?

Where shall it stop?

 

Futility…………………. Nowhere!

 

100 years ago, lest we forget.

100 years ago the WW1 was half over. boys languished in the trenches. Promises of it’ll all be over by Christmas, but a distant memory. We should never forget our past for it will guide us to our future.

I am going to blog a number of poems I wrote and wish to share in memory of the fallen, on all sides. they were all son’s, husbands, brothers.

Distant Battlefields 

A puff of smoke plumes into the air,

As muskets fire shots across the valley.

The ‘enemy’ returns fire without a care,

And there is a short gunfire rally

That cuts down all who have not found cover,

Leaving dead – friend; son; father and brother.

 

Clouds of smoke from nearby canon hangs in the air

As one brave soldier rises from his lair,

Brandishing his musket with bayonet attached,

He’s last seen vanishing as he makes his attack.

He disappears into the cool, mist hung morn,

Just as the day is about to dawn.

 

More guns fire in the ensuing battle,

As generals shout tactics along the line

And wave after wave of young men descend like cattle

Into the affray, not afraid to die.

Thoughts of loved ones filling their minds eye

As the light of their souls drift up to the sky.

 

Trees and tents rise mysteriously above the haze,

As a young soldier staggers out of the smoke in a daze.

“They’re all dead!” he shouts sinking to his knees to cry,

The young, best of our men folk, sent to die.

Needless deaths for the gain of a few square feet

Of land on a hillside, that none will keep.

 

 And just as the battle starts to wane,

Droplets fall as it begins to rain

And streams of blood trickle from the dead,

Gathering into riverlets and puddles of red,

And the dreams of the youth are forever lost,

And the dreams of a nation, oh at what cost.

 

The battle is lost, the battle is won,

As evening’s arms envelop the wounded and maimed,

The moans and cries of pain; the results of a gun;

Can be heard across the campsite, but no-one is blamed,

For this is war and the best of the best are sent to fight,

For in the end OUR COUNTRY is always right.

 

And in years to come, this hillside will be

A place for ancestors to come and see

Where fallen fore-fathers shed their lives,

So today we may be safe, husbands and wives,

And the children play on mounds; graves of the dead;

Who only have flowers to share in their bed.

 

And who shall remember all of their names,

The brave young soldiers who fought for what’s right,

Away from their homes, villages and lanes,

Where they had marched proudly off to fight,

Expecting to return safely back home,

But now they’re all lost, now they’re all gone.

 

In distant battlefields, now are heard only birds cries,

Where once was the scene of last breaths as he dies;

Another young soldier gone from our grasp,

Like many to come, he won’t be the last,

And in the distance, a drum beat mourns

And a bagpipe plays alone and forlorn.

Polly Flies into Elliot’s Ipad

polly-can-she-fly

I just heard that a friend’s little boy has just come out of an operation, so I decided to cheer him up a bit and sent him How Polly Became a Parrot for his ipad, so that he can read it in hospital.

He is amazingly brave, and so is his mum. Hugs to you both and I hope he enjoys the book.

 

 

 

If there are any other children anywhere in the world right now in hospital 7-11 years old who need cheering up, just contact me and I will happily send them an ipad copy (FREE) to keep them busy.

 

Oh Wow another School!

Just had a call from the principle of Craigland’s Primary School, Gauteng.

She asked if I can go into the school to talk to the children on the 24th November. Looks like it’s going to be a busy month.

We will be talking about what a disability/challenge is and how we all have one – can’t sing, can’t dance, can’t spell, can’t count, can’t swim, can’t cook plus a host of others, which the kids will help me identify on the day. Then we’ll chat about why it’s not cool to bully each other, as we all have something someone else can bully us about and how we wouldn’t like that.

I give examples from my books Polly’s Piralympics, How Polly Became a Pirate and Polly, Ya Nay Can Fly and we will discuss how we can stand up to bullies, and where to get help.

I am so excited about going to Craigland’s and interacting with the children. I know it is going to be a very special day.

#PollysPiralympics, #HowPollyBecameAPirate, #PollyYaNayCanFly, #Paralympics, #Pirates, #KidsBooksWithPirates, #KidsWooksWithDisabilities, #BullyingIsntCool