Congratulations to the winners of our recent war poetry competition to mark the centenary of the end of WWI.
We had loads of amazing entries and the judges had a very hard time selecting the winners. The winning poems are reproduced below, with the winners receiving gift vouchers to spend in Corby town centre of £100, £50 and £25 respectively. All entrants will receive a copy of The Lost Generation – The Young Person’s Guide to World War I by Martyn Barr, worth £5.99.
I lay myself down, with my head on my gun
I finally feel at peace, the sound of explosions, distant
On my body, I feel the great warmth of the sun
The sound of my wheezing, punctured lung, consistent.
I am supervised by the swaying poppies, during my calm eternity,
Their petals flying through the wind, to a distant land.
As I lay, my vision blurs, until blackness is all I see,
And soon I have lost all feeling in my cold, dead hand.
Arms, legs, chest, I think I’m nearly dead
This paralysing, cold feeling envelopes my body
Covering myself, all except my head
And in this time, only one phrase came to mind
They fought our foe
A century ago
Many soldiers died
Many families cried
In many battles they have fought
We owe them for the peace they brought
For their country they lie in an honoured grave
We will never forget the bold and the brave
Time may pass and scars may heal
But on this one day our respect they will feel
A Hundred Years of Tears
Everyone thinks it’s heroic and idolised, but they don’t realise
The fear and tears in grown men’s eyes.
Trenches lined up row by row,
Just so the lifeless bullets flow.
The First World War,
Not a major humanity score.
Lest we forget,
As this will surely cause deep regret.
But the enemy leaders cheered.
Ypres wasn’t cheap,
Lives were lost at all cost.
Shell shock, a new addition to mental health.
Leaders thought of it as a lack of stealth.
Countries fighting, losing everything they’ve worked for.
Just to open the smallest victory’s door.
Scars that will last a lifetime and a simple bells chime
Could bring it all back
It’s a sorry sight to see a grown man crack.
Marching all day.
Constantly worried about becoming a stray.
Footprints embedded on no man’s land.
Just so the country can make an almighty stand.
Flanders fields are the natural body shields.
Horses, the greatest weapon
Even though it nearly caused an Armageddon.
There were tonnes of guns.
Forcing families to say goodbye to their sons.
We wear our melancholy poppy to remind us of our loss.
To which society becomes a cross.
A hundred years.
Yet there are still so many tears.