Happy Remembrance Day Poems– Remembrance Day (also known as Poppy Day, Armistice Day) is a memorial day observed in Commonwealth countries since the end of World War I to remember the members of their armed forces who have died in the line of duty. This day, or alternative dates, are also recognized as special days for war remembrances in many non-Commonwealth countries. Remembrance Day is observed on 11 November to recall the official end of World War I on that date in 1918; hostilities formally ended “at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month” of 1918. I am listing some best Famous Remembrance Day Poems which you will like and share for sure.
So below are some Remembrance Day Poems that you will like to read and share-
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields. – John McCrae
You who live secure
Who return at evening to find
Hot food and friendly faces:
Consider whether this is a man,
Who labours in the mud
Who knows no peace
Who fights for a crust of bread
Who dies at a yes or a no.
Consider whether this is a woman,
Without hair or name
With no more strength to remember
Eyes empty and womb cold
As a frog in winter.
Consider that this has been:
I commend these words to you.
Engrave them on your hearts
When you are in your house,
when you walk on your way,
When you go to bed, when you rise.
Repeat them to your children.
Or may your house crumble,
Disease render you powerless,
Your offspring avert their faces from you. – Primo Levi
IF I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined — just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around:
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
Young Hodge the drummer never knew —
Fresh from his Wessex home —
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow up some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.
Soldiers dying, people crying, families torn apart,
No one happy, everyone snappy, people with broken hearts,
The war is over! Hooray! Rejoicing! Everyone smiling, happy at last,
But wait, what of the soldiers who died, people who cried, the ones who feared, who shed a tear,
The soldiers? They’re buried with a cross over their head,
The people? Still crying, their hearts are dying, and sometimes they wish they were dead,
So, on Remembrance Day, remember the soldiers, the families, the people, remember the things they did for our life, our future.
Remember them. – Syrah
Yes. I remember Adlestrop—The name, because one afternoonOf heat the express-train drew up thereUnwontedly. It was late June.The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.No one left and no one cameOn the bare platform. What I sawWas Adlestrop—only the nameAnd willows, willow-herb, and grass,And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,No whit less still and lonely fairThan the high cloudlets in the sky.And for that minute a blackbird sangClose by, and round him, mistier,Farther and farther, all the birdsOf Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
They fell by the thousands, ‘til the rivers ran red,
With the blood of the wounded, the blood of the dead.
No matter what colour or hue of their skin,
The blood’s the same colour, outside or within.
They were boys that left home, patriotics held high.
T’was their shield and their talisman and for it they’d die.
No matter what side the soldiers fought for,
They killed, eye-for-eye, ‘til they couldn’t keep score.
The boys fought for apple pie, King and country.
The boys fought for the right to always live free:
But boys shouldn’t die, they should live to be men-
From our lips to God’s ears, to world peace, please.
© Margot Leolyn Hedden November 11th 2011