Here I welcome proudly those poems of unknown origin, whose sources I cannot ask for permission. If the authors see these, please could they contact me with perrmission? I can be reached on firstname.lastname@example.org I have found these poems on my hard disk, and cannot stay silent about their glory.
Some have been identified over the years, by people recognising their favourites, and writing in. To the authors, I say a big "Thank you" for being so clever at words, and expressing our feelings so clearly; to those who wrote in, I also say "Thank you", for having the patience and the love to do so. God knows, their are some of us who need the latter desperately!
And I give tribute to the unknown soldiers whose agony stirred these poems.
And, added later
And, finally, I have added
which gets my goat so hard every time I hear it: I suppose partly because I, too, am a product of the War (which war? WWII. I know the British army has only not been fighting for 2 years in the last 200, but "the war" still, to me, means THE War); there is only about twenty years between me and them, since they were a fighting age when I was born. My youth lived, breathed, and dreamed of the War. The time when my mother's hair turned white in one short year; when my brother nearly lost his life drowning; when my family was evacuated from their home; when...... but I was the last, born after it was all over. It just doesn't seem like that.
London, one of the richest cities in the world. Yet, in it's back alleys and basements you will find those still in their teens sleeping with no more protection against the weather than a cardboard box that they call "home". It was described well once; such a teenager shown in his box, and the caption read "He's sleeping out tonight, and it's killing him".
2. The Spider - a Lesson in Life
The spider's work is to build, to create, and then to wait. How many of us spend our lives chasing after dreams when, if we did but realise it, the dreams would come to us if so we built our life that the dreams were attracted to us.
Example is the greatest form of leadership. No-one will follow those who teach one thing, and practise another. But those who prattle no preaching, just do as they wish the world to do, are not these our real leaders? Watching the spider in the mists of dawn gave the writer a new insight to his life, and, maybe, to ours.