Memories of war

I’m too young to have memories of the war. But I do have vivid memories of running up and down the “hills” in our local park when I was a child.

Those hills were old air raid shelters – now gone.

On seeing a derelict air raid shelter

Buried deeper

than roots of trees

are memories lost

in the debris of time

Where people huddled

crying in the dark

flowers grow

A splash of colour

in a mass of grey

suburbia

Where children play

roll freedom filled

down grassy slopes

dandelion clocks

scatter seeds

to the wind

I enjoy reading the war poets.  But it did feel odd reading the poems of Siegfried Sassoon while lying on a Normandy beach.

On reading Siegfried Sassoon on the beach

You talk of death

And all around us

the bodies lie sprawled

eyes closed

their faces to the sun

You talk of guns

And I hear the waves

gently lapping

on the beach

You talk of shells

Mine are the

pink and white ones

the children place

on sandcastles

You talk of time

how slow it went

The mornings here

cannot go slow enough

for me.

 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

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