Poems by Laura Sanders

A young fit man, when he went off to war,
but as soon as I saw him, close that door,
I knew he would never be the same,
'cause war it ruins, wounds and maims.

When I saw him again, his hands trembled, shook.
His face looked haunted, with anguished look.
Now and then, he cried out, in mental pain,
I knew he'd come back, never being the same.

In the depths of the night, he cried out a name,
woke up sweating, said it's happening again!
A cigarette, would calm his broken thoughts,
alone he sat, feeling out of sorts.

I knew that he had P.T.S.D,
so I took him for a stay, in the Welsh country.
To a place where birds sang and fresh rivers flow,
a place of solitude, only peace would know.

In the woods, he sat with other friends,
chatted, slept in tents, til the evenings end.
They learnt bush craft, and how to survive,
making campfires and fishing to stay alive...

Slowly he got better with his fragmented health,
began to improve, 'til he had mental wealth.
Now, he is an instructor, teaching others bushcraft
and I'm glad I took him, to find that longed for, life raft.

Why is a garden snail so slow?
Has he no place to go?
With his house upon his back-
he doesn't even need, to pack!

If it gets too hot, he just sleeps,
inside his shell he retreats.
He feels safe inside,
where he isn't heated and dried!

If it rains, he soundly sleeps,
until he's ready to peep.
He comes out, he loves the damp,
sliding along, up and down ramps.

Leaving his glittery, silvery trail,
how happy are wet slimy snails!
Then he sticks to an old, hard rock,
do not disturb him and do not knock!

'Cause snail has found his safe abode,
with his shell home, which is his load.
Snail is slow, cause he needs to find,
his perfect pitch, for peace of mind!

A young child asked her mother, "mother, what does the face of God look like?
I know I may never see him, is he fierce or is he kind?"
The mother said, "God dear, is like the coloured rainbow smiling in the sky,
He is the formation of snow white swans, flying gently by...
He is like the stars in heaven, his love infinite and bright,
always like the sun in the morning, calms us after a rainy night.
His voice  is like the tallest trees, whispering in the  cooling breeze.
He is like the Spring time thaw, after the cold icy Winter freeze.
He is like the flowers in the border, in the summertime.
He is like the  rivers dancing, alive with fish, leaping in  line...
He is like the summer meadows, lush and fresh and green.
God is everywhere darling, but his face is never seen...
'cause God is the best of EVERYTHING, here on earth
and he came to save us all, by his miraculous birth!"

Such horror faced by the allied troops,
Such bravery in the face of the foe.
Witnessing young lives, mown down by gunfire,
Such terror, thank God, we will never know....

For the liberation of Europe was won
but at a price to men, from all sides.
American ,French ,Canadian ,English .
Red bloodied land, crimson red tides.

I am humbled when I think of the sacrifices
Men made, the sixth June 1944 is now history.
Heroes fighting for their country,
To free us from the Nazi tyranny.

In Normandy the graveyards are bursting
White headstones , display lives cut down by war
Today we must always be grateful,
We must remember them, for evermore.

"Let this never happen again !" the survivors say
Tears and sadness wells, in their faded eyes.
As they think of their fallen comrades
Who died on the beaches,  in the sea and skies.

A mother is someone who cares,
Someone who will readily share.
Who tries to bandage up cut knees,
Who likes to give and to please.

A mother is someone who smiles a lot.
A mother is someone who gives all she's got.
She loves to make others smile,
Tries to go that extra mile...

A mother like this is a rare gemstone.
With a mother like this, you'll never feel alone,
For a mother can be your best friend,
Caring, sharing, pleasing to the very end.

A single red Poppy is all I wear to commemorate the dead.
A single red Poppy is all I wear, it's clothed in scarlet red.
Curled up at both ends, torn by Remembrance day,
but without it how would I show, I cared about the sacrifice, they made.

Swathes of Poppies today, are found in Flander's lands,
where bodies once bled in the mud - it's hard to understand!
Why men must brutally fight one another, in order to win a war?
Countless lives lost to a cause, just to settle a score.

But just what were those men really  fighting for?
For freedom and peace to reign, across our lands once more.
So that simple, red Poppy is important, for us to wear.
We can all show our support for soldiers today- show we all do care!

Gran- what is it like to be so old?
This, may I ask and to be so bold!
Do you ache and pain like me,
or do you still feel lively, energetic, free...?

Do people really respect your views?
Or do they secretly laugh at you?
Or do they marvel at your age?
Or is it like turning the same old page?

Do you long to be young again?
To relive your  time, in life's short game?
Would you do things differently
and someone else, you would rather be?

Gran, smile, put on your happy grin,
even if it is difficult within.
You'll fool them all with all those years,
you will reduce them all, to smiling tears!

A benchmark, you have now surpassed,
You're best years, have now since passed.
You've now lived through, your hope and fears,
You've reached your golden years!

Mum, thank you for all the little things you did,
down on earth, for us all.
The things, we never saw.
The things mum's really are for...
Hugging and talking to us,
looking after us, when we cussed,
showing us the side, that cares.

When life was too much to bear,
Mum, we couldn't see everything
you went through,
but we really do appreciate you.
Life wouldn't have been the same too,
without you.
So thank you, for all you did,
for us all.
Giving us advice,
making us Pilchard curry and rice!
Going to church with us both,
helping us to cope.
Sticking up for us, in our hours of need,
lots of things indeed...

Rows of creeping, tangled, knotted runner -bean Vines
twist and turn, growing up netting and poles in lines...
Tiny, red flowers attract bees and insects to visit and pollinate.
"Come enter and taste before it's too late !"
Elsewhere, lush lettuces appeal to any Beatrix Potter character, utter temptation !
Delicious carrots, with fine leafy tops protrude, without hesitation .
Swathes of potato flowers plants, surge over the veg plot -
where compost manure and organic soil lies, in humus and then rots.
Neat lines, measured out by string and rusty iron poles-
Growing tasty fresh veg, the ultimate goal!!
Fruits, picked by hand from plant. to box to crate .
Satisfaction and reward , for" growing your own " is great!

After the snowfall.

The snow flakes fall like soft, downy feathers from the sky.
Soon it drifts and piles up, as I look outside.
The landscape transformed, looks clean and bright,
hills and lanes, seem fresh and white.
The virgin snow, beckons me to come outside and play.
Already visitors have been, as I make my way.
Bird prints, a cat's paw marks, dog tracks, galore-
have impacted the snow, more and more...
Seems I am not alone, in this winter landscape,
where crystals, has fallen, from an ice maiden's cape.
Soft caterpillars of white snow, cover objects in the garden.
Elsewhere, water has frozen, and like tough glass, has hardened.
As I crunch about ,in my snow boots, hat and warm scarf,
I feel once more enlivened, as I make a foot print path...