Twittering Tales #160 – 29 October 2019

This is part of Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales.

Image From Pixabay

“Come on, we’re late! Cutting across the cemetery will save twenty minutes. I know it’s almost dark but I am more afraid of Mum than the dead.” James said jumping over the wall. “No” shouted Paul. James was home in 15 mins. Paul however was never seen again.
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Jut Jot It January: I won’t get out of here.

Help they are coming

Sliding  down  the walls, creeping  across  the  floor

Seeping in through the windows sticking  to the sills

Emerging  through  the  floorboards peeking in at  the door

Smelling  quite  unholy, ever  urging draging out  all ills.

 

There is  no  escape  for  me I  am truly  trapped

By  this  evil  creeping, slimy monster

It’s opened up my inner fears  and has  my life’s blood tapped.

I must not  alert the others. Don’t want cause a stir.

 

Now  it’s  making  noises,  winding up to a scream

I don’t  want  the others to hear  them,  that  would’nt be right.

They are  becoming louder,  spinning like a dream.

Closer  and closer  they come, will I survive  the night.

 

Louder  and louder  their  screams  begin to rise

They  are  filling the space in my head, I cannot  breathe.

Smell is eating up  my  nose  and here come the flies

They  have shut the door and locked it, now I shall never  leave.

This post is part of Just Jot It January hosted by Linda G Hill.

Thanks for tuning in and if you want to join, feel free to click on the link and start jotting!

 

Gate keepers :12

Why do they sit and guard at the gates, what are the horrors that they await?

Why do they guard the portal, why do they never sleep what is it they guard why is this their fate.

Why for millenniums have they stood by their posts

Why, …… is it to save us from aliens or ungodly hosts?

 

What are they protecting us from, what fiendish hell are they shutting out

What is it fighting to get in and attack this world and wipe it all out!?

What is the secret they keep , what would happen if they open the portal for us to take a peek.

What is the horrible truth that they keep , are you ready to hear and face the words that I speak.

 

It is not us they are saving, is it not us they protect , 

 NO! It is all the other dimensions and  worlds across the threshold …… they will not let us infect!

It is shocking  and fearful for us to be told

It is us that we are the evil from all other worlds and dimensions they must withhold!! 

The story Sofa!

Here I am with open arms oblivious to all your charms. Here unmoving day and night I helped you learn to read and write

Here I am, the one you need, to get you through life’s challenges, I’m always up for a midnight feed!!

I am on hand for a cosy rest in front of the fire, sit with me in winter and  watch the snow fall as the flames grow higher.

I am here for you in spring sit with me and sip your tea and listen as the Thrush sings!

Early morning late at night I am here for your delight!!

photo creditshttp://www.allposters.com/

I keep your secrets as you grow older and see your relationships get hot or colder. As you grow and become much bolder.

I am here for you when life becomes to hard to shoulder and encourage you as you climb up another gigantic life boulder!

You  may change my covers to suit the fashion to look good or cool  for swings from anger into passion. Never deserting always there the answer to exhaustions prayer.

I excel at family  gatherings  Christmas, Easter, Birthdays and especially Weddings. Usually I get tarted up when special visitors come to sup!

Always in need when there are babies, new, good for cuddles and sometimes a lot more too! I  will not say what  that’s about .I shall not disclose what you get up to when no one else is about.

Such comfort can found in my arms for weary heads with physical or mental qualms. I never nag or boss you. I am always here when your day is through. I have never done a nasty thing to you.

I’ve been with you good and bad shared your grief  when you’ve been sad.Seen you laugh  loud and free and kept the secrets you’ve given me.

Then one day comes a bolt out of the blue I am of no longer any use, you have found some one new! I am banished shoved aside not wanted even though I’ve comforted you whenever you’ve cried! Cast aside for versions new after all I have done for you!!

Now, how ungrateful can you be ! After all these years you abandon me??

Journal For Poetry Challenge#7 11/03/2012

“Dulce et Decorum Est ”    Wilfred Owen

  (It is sweet and Glorious )

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,         Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs                                     And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Is sweet and glorious Die for his country.???

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I have given information on Wilfred Owen before but it is worth repeating myself.

Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) is widely recognised as one of the greatest voices of the First World War. His self-appointed task was to speak for the men in his care, to show the ‘Pity of War’.

Wilfred Owen

Owen’s enduring and influential poetry is evidence of his bleak realism, his energy and indignation, his compassion and his great technical skill.

The Wilfred Owen Association was formed in 1989 to commemorate Wilfred Owen’s life and work. You can learn more at http://wilfredowen.org.uk/home/

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Sideshow Produced By www.WW1Photos.com

I do not normally add videos to these poems as they are so sad and I am  trying to relate the truth. This song is everything I find so bad about WW1 A merry tune hiding a horrible horrible truth.

A young man like the one in the song could of enlisted at the start of the war and then received  approximately  12 weeks training, by 1918 was down to 6 weeks. Training for a standard infantry soldier was basic as most people already accepted orders, routine, manual labour, so they were compliant. The main areas of training where rifle and bayonet drill, small unit tactics and learning the basics of trench warfare.

So six to twelve weeks and then sent forth to the bowls of hell. I have covered how much this challenge has taught me ……. you already know how I feel.

Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here.  Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:

Journal For Poetry Challenge#7 04/03/2012

SUICIDE IN THE TRENCHES

By Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With cramps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

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Getty Images

Siegfried Sassoon was born into a wealthy Jewish family on  8th September 1886 in Matfield Kent and died 1st September 1967 one week before his 81st Birthday he was living in Somerset. He died of stomach cancer.                                 Being an innocent, Sassoon’s reaction to the realities of the war were all the more bitter and violent — both his reaction through his poetry and his reaction on the battlefield (where, after the death of fellow officer David Thomas and his brother Hamo at Gallipoli, Sassoon earned the nickname “Mad Jack” for his near-suicidal exploits against the German lines — in the early manifestation of his grief, when he still believed that the Germans were entirely to blame). As Paul Fussell said: “now he unleashed a talent for irony and satire and contumely that had been sleeping all during his pastoral youth.” Sassoon also showed his innocence by going public with his protest against the war (as he grew to see that insensitive political leadership was the greater enemy than the Germans). Luckily, his friend and fellow poet Robert Graves convinced the review board that Sassoon was suffering from shell-shock and he was sent instead to the military hospital at Craiglockhart where he met and influenced Wilfred Owen.

Siegfried Sassoon was decorated for bravery on the Western Front. He became one of the leading poets of the First World War.He was a key figure in the study of the poetry of the Great War: he influenced and mentored the then unknown Wilfred Owen; he spent thirty years reflecting on the war through his memoirs; and at last he found peace in his religious faith. Some critics found his later poetry lacking in comparison to his war poems. Sassoon, identifying with Herbert and Vaughan, recognized and understood this: “my development has been entirely consistent and in character” he answered, “almost all of them have ignored the fact that I am a religious poet.”            ….. http://www.poemhunter.com/siegfried-sassoon/biography/

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Another poem that wrenched my heart and flooded my brain with images of war. The more I read the more horrors I discover.This is pure and simply the tale of a of a young country lad ( it could so easily of been Siegfried himself.) who was taken from his hard but happy rural life and thrown into trench warfare. Noise , blood, mud, smells, dead bodies, rats, lice, fear horror. Would you like to eat , sleep drink , urinate , defecate all in the same space???

I am sure that many more frightened boys committed suicide just because they could not stand the nightmare they had landed in. Again there is nothing more that I can say the poem has said it all. I am also sure that that men and women may well have done the same in the more recent wars too.

Lest we forget.

Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here.  Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:

Journal For Poetry Challenge#7 15,01,2012

 Journal For Poetry Challenge#7 15,01,2012

Sir Herbert Read photograph Sir Herbert Edward Read (1893-1968), the poet and critic, was born in Yorkshire in 1893.

His college studies, at Leeds University, were interrupted by the outbreak of the First World War, in which he served with the Yorkshire Regiment in France and Belgium.  During his service he was awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) and Military Cross in the same year, 1918.

He continued to publish poetry for the remainder of his life, his final volume, Collected Poems, being published in 1966. Knighted in 1953 by Churchill for services to literature, Sir Herbert Read, who married twice, died on 12 June 1968.

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Herbert Read (1893-1968)
“The Happy Warrior”

His wild heart beats with painful sobs,
His strin’d hands clench an ice-cold rifle,
His aching jaws grip a hot parch’d tongue,
His wide eyes search unconsciously.

He cannot shriek.

Bloody saliva
Dribbles down his shapeless jacket.

I saw him stab
And stab again
A well-killed Boche.

This is the happy warrior,
This is he…

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The poem shows the dirty horrible side of war. The blind terror, the mental agony the mind so numbed with fear that the soldier  slobbers un- known. This is what was laughingly known as the happy warrior, this happy band! So sad so very sad.

Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here.  Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:

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