weekly challenge | willowdot21

Ronovan Writes Sijo Wednesday Poetry Challenge #3. Use GUARD as your inspiration this week.

31 Mar 2022 19 Comments

by willowdot21 in #Haiku, #Senryu, #Haiga, #Tanka, #Tanka Prose, #micropoetry, #poetry, #5lines, #Haibun, #Prose, #CinquainPoetry, #Etheree, #Nonet, #Shadorma, #Gogyoka, love, memories, photos, Poems, Ronovanwrites, Sijo Tags: 2022 Ronovan Poetry, March 30, Sijo Korean poetry form, Sijo poetry, Syllabic poetry, weekly challenge, Writing Prompt

The child was born in winter, while all was encased in snow
Warm in heart and spirit , guarded by those who’d watched her grow.
Blossomed in the spring, flowered in the sun, gave of fruits in Autumn.

37 words
44 syllables.

part of Ronovanwrite’s Weekly Sijo Challenge.

What do you See? Oct/9/2018

13 Oct 2018 15 Comments

by willowdot21 in photos, Poems Tags: loss, mourning, photo prompt, weekly challenge, What do you see, Willow Poetry

This is my entry for Hélène Vaillant’s “What do you see? Weekly challenge”

Weekly challenge

Here is the prompt photo. I see three generations looking out for a lost love taken by the sea. Turned to stone as they wait. I also see a family pet.

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They wait patiently

Watching ever hopeful of

A return from sea

A family ripped apart

Turned to stone but still with heart.

RONOVAN WRITES#WEEKLY#POETRY PROMPT#CHALLENGE#83 GEM&FLAME

08 Feb 2016 21 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: Gem and Flame, Poetry prompt, Ronovanwrites, weekly challenge

RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #83 Gem&Flame

Bright eyes lit like gems

Black wings expose heart of fire

Raven Queen heart flame

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Like a flame she shot

Past the sun’s dying soft gems

Tallons splay like flame

Poetry Challenge # 16/12/2012

16 Dec 2012 Leave a comment

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

He’s five foot-two, and he’s six feet-four,
He fights with missiles and with spears.
He’s all of thirty-one, and he’s only seventeen,
He’s been a soldier for a thousand years.

He’a a Catholic, a Hindu, an Atheist, a Jain,
A Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew.
And he knows he shouldn’t kill,
And he knows he always will,
Kill you for me my friend and me for you.

And he’s fighting for Canada,
He’s fighting for France,
He’s fighting for the USA,
And he’s fighting for the Russians,
And he’s fighting for Japan,
And he thinks we’ll put an end to war this way.

And he’s fighting for Democracy,
He’s fighting for the Reds,
He says it’s for the peace of all.
He’s the one who must decide,
Who’s to live and who’s to die,
And he never sees the writing on the wall.

But without him,
How would Hitler have condemned him at Labau?
Without him Caesar would have stood alone,
He’s the one who gives his body
As a weapon of the war,
And without him all this killing can’t go on.

He’s the Universal Soldier and he really is to blame,
His orders come from far away no more,
They come from here and there and you and me,
And brothers can’t you see,
This is not the way we put an end to war.

Written by

Buffy Sainte-Marie, OC (born February 20, 1941) is a Canadian Cree singer-songwriter, musician, composer, visual artist,^[1] educator, pacifist, and social activist. Throughout her career in all of these areas, her work has focused on issues of Indigenous peoples of the Americas. Her singing and writing repertoire includes subjects of love, war, religion, and mysticism.

She founded the Cradleboard Teaching Project, an educational curriculum devoted to better understanding Native Americans. She has won recognition and many awards and honours for both her music and her work in education and social activism.

Sung by

Donovan (born Donovan Philips Leitch, 10 May 1946) is a Scottish singer, songwriter and guitarist. Originally a folk artist in 1965, Donovan quickly developed an eclectic and distinctive style that blended folk, jazz, pop, psychedelia, and world music (notably calypso). He has variously lived in Scotland, London, California and Ireland, and currently lives with his family in County Cork in Ireland.

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This is an unusual anti war song . Instead of blaming the arms makers, the politicians, the generals, the religious leaders, the usual bad guys. No instead it blames the soldier, the everyday guy or ( girl these days ) for fighting! Who knows the words could be right. For maybe if the the everyday soldiers and people rose up and said no maybe war would stop……………………… or maybe not!

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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

Poetry Challenge # 09/12/2012

09 Dec 2012 2 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

What Was The Christmas Truce?
Although the popular memory of World War One is normally one of horrific casualties and ‘wasted’ life, the conflict does have tales of comradeship and peace. One of the most remarkable, and heavily mythologised, events concerns the ‘Christmas Truce’ of 1914, in which the soldiers of the Western Front laid down their arms on Christmas Day and met in No Man’s Land, exchanging food and cigarettes, as well as playing football. The cessation of violence was entirely unofficial and there had been no prior discussion: troops acted spontaneously from goodwill, not orders. Not only did this truce actually happen, but the event was more widespread than commonly portrayed.

How Did It Start?
There are many accounts of the Christmas truce, the most famous of which concern the meeting of British and German forces; however, French and Belgium troops also took part. The unofficial nature of the truce meant that there was no one single cause or origin; some narratives tell of British troops hearing their German counterparts singing Christmas carols and joining in, while Frank Richards, a private in the Royal Welch Fusiliers, told of how both sides erected signs wishing the other a ‘Merry Christmas’. From these small starts some men crossed the lines with their hands up, and troops from the opposing side went to meet them. By the time officers realised what was happening the initial meetings had been made, and most commanders either turned a blind eye or happily joined in.

How Long Did It Last?
The fraternisation lasted, in many areas, for the whole of Christmas day. Food and supplies were exchanged on a one to one basis, while in some areas men borrowed tools and equipment from the enemy, in order to quickly improve their own living conditions. Many games of football were played using whatever would suffice for a ball, while bodies that had become trapped within No Man’s Land were buried.Most modern retellings of the Truce finish with the soldiers returning to their trenches and then fighting again the next day, but in many areas the peace lasted much longer. Frank Richard’s account explained how both sides refrained from shooting at each other the next day, until the British troops were relieved and they left the front line. In other areas the goodwill lasted for several weeks, bringing a halt to opportunistic sniping, before the bloody conflict once again resumed.

The Frank Richards material comes from the December 2000 edition of BBC History Magazine.

Poetry Challenge # 02/12/2012

02 Dec 2012 10 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/

They lie not in that empty grave
Beneath the foreign sod.
They do not lie forgotten
In that cold, and desolate Land of Nod.

Soldier Boy … Solider Boy,
The trumpets blast, and blare;
And wreaths are laid at the Cenotaph,
To show … that we still care.

But … there’s a greater love than Man’s
Who knows the price you paid.
He spared you the indignity,
And lifted you from that cold, cold grave.

He created a Great Celestial Shrine,
And the moment it was done …
With a gentle hand, placed the Valiant heart,
Of each dear Mother’s son.

Soldier Boy … Solider Boy,
Under Dutch blue skies,
The gentle Breeze of Holland …
Kiss your grave … as they pass by.

Written by Earl Doucette

I could not find anything about Earl Doucette apart from the fact that he was Canadian.

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This is a beautiful poem. It speaks of God, whatever name you give him/her, lifting all the dead soldiers from their cold or hot and bloodied graves all over the world and in all times past and future and even present. He takes them to Heaven ..whatever name you have for heaven. It is a comfort to us all, for the violent deaths and hurried burials that soldiers on the battle theatres of war received. It troubles us all and so we have these poems to salve our consciences and please our tender souls .

We all have Remembrance Days but this is a way of saying they got a greater remembrance. I shall say no more you have all heard my feelings on War this past year.

Poetry Challenge #7 27/11/2012

27 Nov 2012 9 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

In the darkness they saw a vision

We saw a vision by Liam Mac Uistin

In the darkness of despair we saw a vision, We lit the light of hope, And it was not extinguished. In the desert of discouragement we saw a vision, We planted the tree of valour, and it blossomed.
In the winter of bondage we saw a vision, We melted the snow of lethargy, And the river of resurrection flowed from it.
We sent our vision swim like a swan on the river, The vision became a reality. Winter became summer. Bondage became freedom, And this we left to you as your inheritance.
Oh generation of freedom remember us, The generation of the vision.

In Irish, the poem reads as follows:

An Aisling.

I ndorchacht an éadóchais rinneadh aisling dúinn. Lasamar solas an dóchais. Agus níor múchadh é.
I bhfásach an lagmhisnigh rinneadh aisling dúinn. Chuireamar crann na crógachta. Agus tháing bláth air.
I ngeimhreadh na daoirse rinneadh aisling dúinn. Mheileamar sneachta táimhe. Agus rith abhainn na hathbheochana as.
Chuireamar ár n-aisling ag snámh mar eala ar an abhainn. Rinneadh fírinne den aisling. Rinneadh samhradh den gheimhreadh. Rinneadh saoirse den daoirse. Agus d’fhágamar agaibhse mar oidhreacht í.
A ghlúnta na saoirse cuimhnígí orainne, glúnta na haislinge..

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The above poem is on a plaque and written on a wall in a garden of remembrance in Dublin . The garden is a poignant a quiet little oasis in the city centre.

The Garden commemorates freedom fighters from various uprisings, including:
– the 1798 rebellion of the Society of United Irishmen
– the 1803 rebellion of Robert Emmet
– the 1848 rebellion of Young Ireland
– the 1867 rising of the Fenian Brotherhood
– the 1916 Easter Rising of the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army
– the 1919-21 Irish War of Independence of the IRA.
The Garden was opened in 1966 by President Eamon de Valera on the fiftieth anniversary of the 1916 Easter Rising, in which he had been a commander. Its focal point is a statue of the Children of Lir by Oisín Kelly, symbolising rebirth and resurrection.

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The Author

Liam Mac Uistin

Liam Mac Uistin is a well-known author and playwright. His versions of ancient Irish stories and legends have been published in the Irish language. He lives in Dublin with his family.

The Statue in the drawing above is of the Children of Lir

The Sculptor

Oisín Kelly, symbolising rebirth and resurrection, added in 1971.

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The words speak for themselves so does the sculpture

I have put this piece of music because it is of the era that the poem speaks of. It is Irish History and part of a long war, as useless in my eyes as any of the wars I have displayed the poetry of, in this poetry challenge. I do not support the IRA, or any side in any war.

Poetry Challenge #7 18/11/2012

18 Nov 2012 8 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

I cannot explain again about the pointlessness of war. No one will listen to me. The Middle East, Syria, Israel, Gazza, Afghanistan, Iraq , no to mention the civil wars on the African continent. If you will no listen to me let this returning soldier , one of the luckier ones. PLEASE. you can read more words from war here

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The Hollow Man I’ve made myself hollow again.
Life, love and phone contract paused… on hold.
Forgotten battles regain definition
As day-to-day worries tick-tock to sepia thoughts of old.

I’m thirsty for the forthcoming chapters;
New tales to trade for backslaps and beer;
Yarns rich with adventure (hinting at bravery)
Will mask my soul’s disgrace and despair,

As pallid ghosts of friends perch on bar stools
While their technicolour doppelgangers
Grin dustily from pictures on shelves.
For now, valiant thoughts of tragic grandeur

Allow my fears to be suppressed and sealed
Into three brown envelopes left with parade-ground precision on my desk.

Ed Poynter

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Ed Poynter was an Infantry Officer in the British Army. He served in The Rifles (and before that The Royal Green Jackets) and saw action in Iraq in 2007 with 4 Rifles (TELIC 10) and Afghanistan in 2009 with 2 Rifles (HERRICK 10). He left the army in April 2010 and is now working as an English teacher in Sussex.

Poetry Challenge #7 11/11/2012

11 Nov 2012 3 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

google images

Today 11/11/12 Remembrance Day. Here is Laurence Binyon’s For the Fallen.

For the Fallen
by Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

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Laurence Binyon was born in Lancaster, England. His parents were Frederick Binyon, a Quaker minister, and Mary Dockray. Mary’s father, Robert Benson Dockray, was the main engineer of the London and Birmingham Railway. The family were Quakers.^[2]

Binyon studied at St Paul’s School. There he read Classics (Honour Moderations) at Trinity College, Oxford, where he won the Newdigate Prize for poetry in 1891.

In 1904 he married historian Cicely Margaret Powell, and the couple had three daughters. During those years, Binyon belonged to a circle of artists, as a regular patron of the Wiener Cafe of London. His fellow intellectuals there were Sir William Rothenstein, Walter Sickert, Charles Ricketts, Lucien Pissarro, Ezra Pound, and Edmund Dulac.^[2]

He died at Dunedin Nursing Home, Bath Road, Reading on 10 March 1943 after an operation. A funeral service was held at Trinity College Chapel, Oxford on the afternoon of 13 March 1943.

For more information read here

Poetry Challenge #7 04/04/2012

04 Nov 2012 8 Comments

by willowdot21 in Uncategorized Tags: death, destruction, futility, war poetry, weekly challenge

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/world-war-two

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,-and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of-wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air….

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew-
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God

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This poem was found in many of the Kriegies’ YMCA issued diaries. Written by John G. Magee on September 3, 1941. Magee was born in Shanghai, China, of missionary parents-an American father and an English mother, and spoke Chinese before English. He was educated at Rugby school in England and at Avon Old Farms School in Connecticut. He won a Scholarship to Yale, but instead joined the Royal Canadian Air Force in late 1940, trained in Canada, and was sent to Britain. He flew in a Spitfire squadron and was killed on a routine training mission on December 11, 1941. The sonnet above was sent to his parents written on the back of a letter which said, “I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed.” He also wrote of his course ending soon and of his then going on operations, and added, “I think we are very lucky as we shall just be in time for the autumn blitzes (which are certain to come.)

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This poem is almost a prayer. It is as soft and light as it contents and as deep and heavy as it contents, too. Full of references to cutting the bonds of earth, soaring high on emotions like laughter, delirium, joy mirth. Dancing flying swooping and flying higher than birds. Reaching the edge of space. Then that last line , a line that says it all for me . Where never lark nor ever eagle flew-And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space,Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Such beauty written about such a deadly subject. Planes carrying bombs to flatten hillsides , villages, towns and cities……. Such a contradiction. Words of one who had not flown in war’s true theatre. If you would like to learn more about John G Magee read here

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