Enlisted they were mostly lads so young,
sent off to war as songs from Vera were sung,
Young miss Ashwell started it all so well,
across europe ****** was giving them hell.
A century has now come and gone by,
Yet the memories of those brave won't die.
Through the wintery cold and icy rain,
Each soldier battled hard so many suffered in pain.
They ask us why do we remember our brave,
Wreaths of poppy's are laid on the unknown soldiers grave.
Today as I write this tribute to those brave,
Another young soldier is put to his grave.
When or will it all ever come to an end,
Fighting in another war another country to defend.
(c) Grant Dickson 01/11/2018
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC
The moment we leave the womb
entering to a blinding well lit room,
We've already started to explore
curiosity takes us crawling on the floor.
Laughing, smiling ready for even more
taking opportunity to open each door,
we slowly raise ourselves from knees to feet
new places and faces ready to meet.
Time for another evolutionary change
age of education is now within range,
welcome to a new game and book
gone are the baby toys as back we look.
Talking of our future learning about the past
years from now into space we may blast,
there are the dreams of such occupations
making new friends building relations.
Have we even started to learn a thing
when well meet again we still sing,
children and education are our only hope
a lesson for all its a tough mountain slope.
Climb climb and never stop reaching higher
take ever chance and reach for your desire,
life itself is one big non stop education
Go teach and share your joy of graduation.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
Bit of a scruffy scoundrel sometimes isn't it
around ones face like a lions mane it will sit,
Varied lengths shapes and colours
the growers are all like brothers.
It's not just ****** hair
some dont just stop and stare,
others want to touch the beard
maybe reading this you think that's weird.
Taking pride of place upon ones face
designer stubble there's not a trace,
like giving your pet a comb and groom
to some a shave would spell doom.
Though this may sound perverse
to touch it would be no curse,
pogonophiliacs want to give it a stroke
to others they sound like crazy folk.
Cooks we may not all be it's true
we love our women like our beards too,
adding in a little oil and sometimes butter
served to make their hearts flutter.
( C ) Grant Dickson 04/10/2018
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
You turned your back on me today
didn't even have the guts to say,
Cast out like a homeless person
Only teaching me one more lesson.
I was slowly getting my life back
Seeing me fight barriers and tears,
Finding music as my therapuatic track
Back and forth I went for a few years.
Building me up making me strong
Then with one swipe I was gone,
Not caring if it was right or wrong
As least I knew for a while I shone.
You took your patronising aid
Threw it back in my joyful face,
All the love and care you displayed
Then lit the fire while in bed I layed.
I may glow brighter as you fall
When your gone I will still be here,
setting a spark with one swift call
But I will remember have no fear.
(C) Grant Dickson 08/07/2018
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:29 AM UTC
The cold air seeped down with no heart,
What was once a sea of beauty and life,
Now had been turned to a grave of white and death,
The city had almost all but stopped living too.
Morning turned to night and yet all was still bright,
Panicking for necessities like bread and milk,
As if they were a commodity like gold and silk,
There was no lease from this grip of icy might.
The Robins so proud with their coats of glorious red,
Out playing like children on a canal iced bed,
Scattering wild seed around upon the snow covered ground,
Bobbing along like cheeky cherubim gathering with a chirpy sound.
A man stands in the not so far distance,
Stood outside clearing snow as it's finally stopped,
I ask and offer myself to give some assistance,
Is seems the final flakes have now dropped.
A path slowly appears as do others now congregate,
Friends, brothers, sister's all one with a common goal,
Time rolls on but we persist as it gets late,
A United effort from one and all like a heart to a soul.
(C) Grant Dickson 21/03/2018
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
We poets write from our hearts
I tried to keep a dream alive
I was just being made a fool
My happiness may take a dive
The tears I wept left a pool.
To read the news i was surprised
Couldn't even tell me to my face
A love so strong had now demised
Someone else had filled my place.
Such a fool I was to have believed
I thought I'd found my true in you
Here I am blamed yet myself deceived
Good wishes my friend for you are true.
I shall shed a few more tears I dare say
Magic moments locked in distant memories
Maybe loves arrow will be true one day
But for now we will sit and tell our stories.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
Our paths have different ways
Each one a new discovery,
Like the sunny or rainy days
Wondering what's going to cover me.
Here we are again another year
Not knowing what our future holds,
Living; looking around in a constant fear
Together we wake as our story unfolds.
This is the year of the young people
Help guide them in making good choices,
Encourage them to reach the highest steeple
They are our future let's hear there voices.
©Grant Dickson 01/01/2018
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
Here we are as we sit and rejoice
Singing in union for God one voice,
Today the first if his son's advent
Voices of his children from heaven sent.
Today we gather to share our gifts he gave
Sharing in a world he died to save,
I looked over and wondered why ideas called hear,
This I Did for a year now it's very clear.
Each Sunday we begin with a song to start
A smile; a handshake, a hug even a hello,
No matter which it's a welcome from the heart
A prayer; a recital; a chat; a refreshment afore ye go.
It's in the Lord we come to rejoice
United as one he hears our voice,
The children go to learn and play
Joyfully returning with what they made today.
Today isn't just any Sunday
It's the first of four in our advent,
Born of Mary and Joseph in a manger he lay
Two thousand years passed to return one day.
Remembering our saviour like loved ones who pass,
As we sit at the table waiting for Christmas.
copyright Grant Dickson 03/12/2017
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 8:16 AM UTC
Waking from a short sleep
From the curtains I did take a peep,
The sky it did look ugly I did say
Was something wicked on its way.
Pondering within the present moment
Feeling intrigued about what it meant,
Had I woken from a dream into reality
Or was it the reality of a dream to me
Visions of late I'm sure we've all had
Pain and suffering it's just so sad,
Thoughts of nuclear nightmares
Clasping hands we'd say our prayers.
Returning to the window we go
Waiting to see if the sun will glow,
Then it appeared orange blood red
Picturing Mysterious skies sat on my bed.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
You see me Hurrying and scurrying
Gathering my food cautiously,
Looking around constantly worrying
Sneaking around precociously.
Weaving; bobbing, always dodging
Bushy tailed little scavenger I am,
So may despise me as I dwell in their lodging
But all I want is a home so don't give a dam.
Climbing my tree like a famous mountaineer
Old and young will wave or sit and say hello,
Quickly I think it's time to evacuate from here
The all clear I see and again on the ground I go.
Fluffy and Grey sometimes even Red
Speeding around among the leaves,
Time to nest and put my children to bed
Until once more the summer itself retrieves.
Grant Dickson 04/09/2017
This poem was inspired by a Squirrel
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC