Wednesday, 18 November 2015


The guns spat flame and bullets flew
flesh ripped from bodies in withering fire
shells rained down, in fury blew
bodies in smithereens against the wire
that rowed the mud of battlefield
where men lay dying in blood and gore
tin helmets lying, a flimsy shield
from the bullets of death and they breathed no more

Lungs gasping for breath in smoke filled air
some others gasping would be their last
body parts dismembered lying here and there
blood watered the mud after the deadly blast
some they died in the desert sand
lives nearly as many as the countless grain
screams and yells echoing over the Godless land
in the killing fields that were insane

Diving and twisting in the clouded sky
engines screaming as iron birds raced
higher than where eagles dared to fly
brave pilots in cockpits sat encased
traces of fire, strings of burning lead
ripped fuselage asunder of the spinning plane
and a young pilot's eyes filled with horror and dread
for he knew death was certain and escape was in vain

The timeless waters of vast ocean and sea
lapped many a sinking ship with her restless waves
where the seagulls above winged away free
and cried over sailors in their watery graves
o wars cruel wars that brought misery and sorrow
with our poppies red we gather again this November
to honour those who give their today for our tomorrow
for the sacrifice of their giving we will always remember

Colin Moffett


Where did I say in my word
Celebrate my lowly birth
Decorate your homes with Christmas trees
Have parties full of mirth

When did I ever tell you
To replace me with another
I know you call him Santa Claus
You can speak his name no bother

Take you children to see him
Promise them gifts galore
If they are very good
They will have what they want and more

No wonder you put a great big X
Where my name should be
Or even call it a holiday
For you dare not mention me

O yes I came in lowly birth
My angels announced it to a few
But if I had not come to die
My birth was no good to you

If I had not shed my precious blood
But had lived then returned to whence I came
A babe, a child then a man not dying
There would be no salvation in my name

But I never told you to remember me
Lying in a bed of straw
But to remember my awful death
When I fulfilled God's holy law

I give you bread to break
To remember my body broken
And ruby red wine to drink
To remember my blood, a token

Yet you would rather remember me
In a lowly stable stall
Or even worse than that
Replace me with Santa Claus and not remember me at all!

Colin Moffett