h/work w.e 23.11.20 - HEROES

[Maureen K Clifford]

An old one of mine - still a fave

https://soundcloud.com/maureen-clifford ... try/heroes

HEROES ... Maureen Clifford 04/11 © The #ScribblyBarkPoet

I see a face in the photo, with fly away hair – in the wind it has tousled and twined.
The face that I see is the image of me must be bookends – each side quite defined.
The twilight is falling, a nightingale sings
and stealthy and quiet comes the night creeping in
between the lost buildings, with parks, slides and swings,
in the city where you’re now enshrined.

I followed the map from our home in the west, from the red soil and bare dusty plains
along bitumen ribbons that ran everywhere – with a heart fluttering for my pains.
I heard your voice singing, though your song was done
it was all in my head - my heart beat like a drum
for your song had ended and your race was run –
it was only the memory remains.

Your casket was draped with the red, white and blue with the Southern Cross for all to see.
The last post was played and the notes echoed round, as the sun rose and from earth was free.
A garland of wattle and gum leaves was placed
on the casket that held you in final embrace
and they lowered you into the earth at this place.
And oh how I wished it was me.

There were rows of white crosses to left and to right all arrayed in a faultless formation.
All with a rising sun plainly in sight – for these were the sons of our nation,
but they’ve no more stories of which they can tell
each one lies here in his own private hell
for I doubt that ‘twas heaven on earth where they fell
in that far away desert location.


They called you a hero, told how you saved lives with your quick and timely intervention.
One should never have heroes – far too many lies are told for the sake of convention.
We should tell of the bloke who before us today
lies beneath the flag of his country – ‘no way
would I be a hero’ I hear his voice say
‘I reckon that’s a misapprehension.’

But to me he’s a hero and always will be. A fine soldier, young man, much loved son.
Blue eyed and blonde haired, tall and strong as could be – one whose race had just begun.
One who fought for his country and was proud to serve.
Who would never sit on the sidelines and observe.
Who believed all had rights to freedom unreserved. Rest in God’s hands, sweet dreams Darl’ – Love Mum.

[Terry]

Hi Maureen

There would have been so many mothers who went through the hell of losing a son or sons - Daughters as well!
A stark reminder of what war is all about.

Terry

[Catherine Lee]

A very moving poem indeed, Maureen. There were so many songs that ended and races that were run way too soon. The line 'And oh how I wished it was me' is powerful - so many mothers would have felt ripped in two by that emotion. I can see why this is one of YOUR particular favourites