The Bird - a poem

In light of recent events across the world, I, like most people, have been pondering the importance of love over hate and light over darkness.

Back when I was sixteen (1996, eek!), I wrote a poem about freedom and peace, which I confess is a little cynical but which has been playing in my mind rather a lot since the weekend, so I thought I would share it. 

The poem is by no means perfect - there are rhythmic errors in it, but I felt that it should be presented as my sixteen year old self would have wanted it. 

The Bird

If I were a bird up high in a tree,

I'd live life in peace as free as can be.

My eyes they would sparkle, my beak it would sing,

In time with the old church as Sunday bells ring.

I would fly to your rooftop to sing you a song

Of freedom and peace as the old bells they dong.

The guns would still shoot, the trees would still fall

And religious conflicts would cause trouble to all.

If I were a bird up high in a tree,

Lets face it you'd shoot me, I'm dispensable, me.

 

© Annie Bell 2015

to Kenneth George Bell - a poem of remembrance

Being Armistice Day, I wanted to share a poem about a member of my family, who gave his life in World War II - my Great Uncle Ken.

In 2008, I took a trip to northern Germany to find the grave of my Grandad's eldest brother - Ken, of the Welch Regiment, who was killed in action on April 10th 1945, aged 27, near to Soltau, where he is now buried in Becklingen War Cemetery. 

In honour of his memory, I wrote him a poem, which I left on his grave and which is laid out below.

To Kenneth George Bell

You had parents and brothers, a sister, no wife

On the day that you gave, for your country, your life

You gave up your future and never grew old

Never had any children – a destiny sold

The result was a future for all of your kin

But the rest of your life would never begin

You were never forgotten and always were missed

More than six decades later you do still exist,

In the thoughts and the memories of those who remain

In the tears in their eyes when they hear your name

And when bugles are playing that haunting refrain

To remind us of sacrifice made time and again 

© Annie Bell 2015

Grave inscription:

 Though absent, you are ever near
Still loved and missed and ever dear