Poetry and Creative Writing for All

The Top 5 Poems of the Month

December 2005

Our winning poet for November is Mark Roope.
Read Mark's biography and more of his poems

Darling It's Time to Die

The soldier knew that his time had come and he would die this very morn,
He had even been given an allotted time to go of one minute past the dawn.
An inner calm descended upon this man in the final moments of his life,
As he recounted the unfulfilled dreams he had promised to his dear wife.

The last letter he would ever write was still moist with the tears that he cried,
The words that he wrote would always be there long after this day that he died.
He made her pledge to remind their boys of his love and to kiss them each day,
He vowed to watch them as they grew from the place he would eventually lay.

All around him in these forsaken trenches men and boys alike were crying,
They knew as well as he that their moment had come to start their dying.
The ladders were set and at the sign of the flare they would go up over the edge,
Prayers were muttered to keep them safe and to religion unbelievers did pledge.

The light of fear filled the sky as over they went with men dropping all around,
The battle did rage as they marched on and on to the guns deathly rattle sound.
Through the mud he went till the bullet did hit and he knew his time had come,
Then he heard a voice plead “Daddy don’t die” and knew it was that of his son.

Again he went through the field filled with poppies watching as those around fell,
Knowing that soon a small piece of lead would bring release from this living hell.
The frightened screams were all around as deaths metal brought him to his knees,
When yet again he heard his sons appeal “Don’t go daddy come to me please”

With an inner strength he rose again to see mustard gas explode where he stood,
Finally he fell prostrate once more and his crippled body lie still in the mud.
The pungent smell dug down deep in his lungs and brought a tear to his eye,
And for one last time he heard his wife’s sweet voice “Darling it’s time to die”

Mark Roope

Here are the other four poems chosen by our imprint editors as winning poems for December. All other poems submitted for the Top 5 Poems of the Month for December are being considered for various anthologies.

Remembrance

Don't grow old my man,
just find surplus love at the bottom of a can,
you don't want to die from old age,
don't want to write to the bottom of the page,
you want to remain forever sixteen,
without burdens as a free libertine.

Age cannot weary the most infant of hearts,
cannot dismantle such complex parts,
dying for pride may not be such a sin,
but did you think about the next of kin?
In the end we cannot get away,
tied to the wheel until our dying day.

Now we're at the going down of the sun,
and it looks like you've lost and nature's won,
look back to the hope of a new morning,
you can hear the past forever calling,
over the parapet of a trench made from bone,
I stare at your name etched on a stone

Chris Mann

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Subliminal Dealings

I’ve stepped into a land with Alice
Where nothing is quite as it seems
And I haven’t had time to decide if
This is the stuff of nightmares or of dreams.

Doors are closed all around me
Through them I hear creeping within
A feeling so strong overwhelms me
Fear is crawling under my skin.

So I turn to find another pathway
But I’m dangling in an eternal space
A door is starting to open
I glimpse a familiar, disturbed young face.

It’s a face I will always remember
But I don’t want to see it today
I pray for some resolution
But it appears there is no other way.

Slow and silent the door swings open
I don’t want to look any more
I know what is waiting there for me
Behind this opening door.

“I’m not ready,” I shout to the darkness
Though it is said without speaking words
But I realise they’re not prepared to hear this
And to challenge them is far too absurd.

I take a deep breath and heroically face
The demon lurking within
I know in my heart there’s no other way
And allow the process to begin.

I’ve learnt through time that the process gets easier
And it’s never to late to prepare
To address life’s hurts and transgressions
And allow heart and soul to fully repair.

For they have got an agenda
And the power to know what is right
My feelings are inconsequential
If tonight is the night, it’s the night

Tracy Thorogood

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Thoughts of a Dying Soldier

Softly, dear Mother,
I pass from this day.
Please think of me often,
With my brothers, at play.

Think of me Mother,
Of your own loving son,
My lips are so dry now,
My time almost done.

Good-by, dearest Mother,
Remember ...if you will,
Your own baby boy , who
Now lies here so still.

Your sweet loving son,
Who clung to your breast,
I am gone now forever,
But, I loved you the best.

Orren Wagner

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The Tightrope Walker

Everyone watches the tightrope walker
as he treads his perilous way, high
above the eyes of sons and daughters

who believe he is up in the sky,
and whose parents know it is just an act,
and that surely he cannot die.

For it's surely empirical fact
that he's guarded by a safety net,
and although he dresses in black

they're all prepared to bet
that his cries of fear are just for fun.
But they ain't seen nothing yet,

as he teeters to close to the sun,
high on his thrill of choice,
and suddenly his balance is gone,

and everyone now hears his voice.
There is silence around the ring,
and an almost unbearable pause.

The threads of the rope are fraying
(later they'll say that this is the cause);
on the snap of the final piece of string
there's a round of benighted applause.

By Chris D. Bonnington

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To submit a poem to the online competition email
inbox@forwardpress.co.uk
Please include Top 5 Poems in the subject line of your email.