Dec 2000
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Following are 6 poems from Grade 8 students in Mrs. McAdoo's class at Sharbot Lake Intermediate School. Three of these poems have won at the local level in the Legion contest and will be entered into the regional contest.Thoughtsby Lydia Sargeant
A light. I see a light. Brighter than a thousand stars. Then, the light disappears. I see black. A terrifying black, I know I'm alone. I don't' know where I am. I try to yellI have no voice. I hear around me blood gurgling, shrieks of pain and horror. Guns, millions of them going off with the sound of a command of a voice. Bombs and sirens, people's feet running away from something unknown. Now I remember where I am. Out of all places, I'm at war. I'm killing people. So many I can't keep count. All I know is the word "Kill". Now I'm lying down I see blood. My own blood. I try To yell, "Help me!" with the little strength I have left. My yell comes out as a whisper. I curs under my breath and try to moveI can't. I wait, still no one comes. I see someone coming and I'm assured. The figure comes closer, I lose hope. For the figure is not friend, but foe. He gives me a look. Not a hatred look or fearful look. But such an odd look upon his face, one of wonder and one of sadness. He grabs his gun and yells "Suffer no more will you". I nod my head and The light's back. Then the blackness. I now realize where I am I'm dead.
I Shed a Tear for Youby Lindsay Fox
To the man in front of me, with the pins on his shirt, standing at attention, fighting away awful memories from the past, I shed a tear for you. To the man who left his family, so we would have a safe and better place to live in, I shed a tear for you. To the man who left with a friend but watched him be killed before his eyes, and never return, I shed a tear for you. To the man who wrote home everyday wishing and praying for the war to stop so he could go home, I shed a tear for you. To the man who had the job of breaking the news to the families of those who had passed on, I shed a tear for you. Here I am, in a puddle of tears, crying for your sake, wearing my poppy to remember those who didn't make it home, thanking God that I wasn't born through this trauma
So to the man in front of me, with the pins on his shirt, standing at attention, fighting away awful memories from the past, Shed a tear for yourself.The Letterby Heather Elliott
He left early in the morning, not much after ten Kissed the wife and the kids, said he'd be back soon again. Then off he went, off to the fight The children watched till he was out of sight. He crossed the country; he crossed the sea And up to the front where he felt he should be. He wrote to the family, though the letters were few But they were a comfort, and that had to do. But then a letter came, one that every wife dreads He had been killed, a shot in the head. But he was not to be brought home, his wife sorrowfully read He'd be buried on the field with the rest of the dead. And now her dear husband was buried, deep under the moss No mark of any kind, not even a cross. And so he became just another lost grave Remembered only by family, memories carefully saved.No Man's Landby Dylan McConkey
Walking far, walking long, They had been, singing a song. Except for one, who knew what was ahead, For he could tell, who was alive, and who was dead, All of the sudden they disappeared, in the ground, And then I heard, that horrible sound. It sounded like one thousand men in pain, For every which way I could see numerous blood stains. I had heard it before, and now and again, As I watched those poor, helpless men. They were all hurting, extremely bad, I could not look, it was so sad. But there was one man, With brown eyes, blond hair, and a bit of a tan. He had looked almost like a kid, With his brown eyes and that hard medal lid. It got worse and worse, Almost as if someone had cast this curse. It was dark, dingy and dusty as hell, In the trench were, the men had fell. It seemed a mile across and also down, But I could not see the endless ground. The bloody stench, of those sickly men, I could not bare in that awful den. I am but a frog, sitting on the ground, Growing old, but can still hear that sound. The sound of the men, that had been in the war, So on the 11th month, of the 11th day, of the 11th hour, You could adore. I know why you sit there and cry, It's because of those men who had to die. So whenever you're in the yard of the dead, Just keep this, in your head. Back then everyone, needed a hand, And I always said this is No Man's LandA Soldier is bornby Justin Hermer
In rows of poppies Between the crosses A soldier is born A soldier is born With his limbs scratched and his clothes torn A soldier is born A soldier is born When he gets stronger Older and wiser He won't get hurt Over and over A soldier is born A soldier is born The parents know The boy is special They will love him with All their hearts A soldier is born A soldier is born.Freedom This Remembrance Dayby Amanda Snider
One wrote of the poppies That blow between the rows One asked the question To which the answer is unknown But none wrote of the bravery Of these young Canadian men, To their people they were heroes But that was back then Now people think that Remembrance Day is a joke They don't take it seriously We should always remember The sacrifices made for our freedom On this Remembrance Day.
