Veterans Remembrance Day

This is a bit late, but I wanted to share my war poetry in honour of the pilots and soldiers who have lost their lives in world wars that now keep us safe and secure. We remember them. The first poem - Fear is a Ghost in The Night Sky has been published on a war poetry site in the UK.

I was a young child during the latter years of WWII and have always been fascinated by the incredible bravery of the pilots of all countries that had a part in air war, particularly the Battle of Britain. I was born on Battle of Britain Day, September 17, 1940. That was the day that Hitler called off his invasion of Britain indefinitely, So the following poem is dedicated to those brave men and women. Although in the culture of the day women were not fighter or bomber pilots, except in Russia, they trained pilots and ferried planes from airfield to airfield and helped to keep the air war machine in full operation.

Fear is a Ghost in the Night Sky

Twin Bristol engines drumming

Thrumming just out of synch

Rumbling through the ink black sky

A wounded Beaufighter flying home

Cocoon of the returning crew

Pilot and gunner stare into the murk

Do they see Death staring back?

But the 109s won’t find them

Not here – stay in cloud – don’t panic

Borne home on angels’ wings tonight

The old plane vibrating, shaking

Descending to the coast – almost home

Families hover around the radio

Hoping for news of loved ones return

Fear is a ghost in the night sky

The following poem is in draft form - I'm still workin' on it! But I wanted to write something that would honour those who sacrificed their lives for our freedom today.

Eleventh hour – day – and month

The front is quiet as a tomb

A reconnaissance plane drones across the sky

The smell lingers from the big guns

Those guns are silent

And the fallen are silent too

They would cry out if they could –

No more mothers and babes dead from shrapnel

Let there be war no more

In our haste to kill, kill, kill

Shovels scrape on stone

As shallow graves are dug

Some were the last to fall --

One or two minutes to peace for George Price and Henry Gunther

Then eternity – they are the heroes

Who bravely answered that last call to arms

Let there be war no more

My cancer poems!

Right now I am taking radiation for a metastasized kidney cancer tumor at the base of my skull which could be potentially fatal. 10 radiation treatments in 10 days at Cross Cancer Institute in Edmonton, Canada. My dear daughter Anne is keeping me company with this treatment regimen, so that Sandra can get some work done at her senior management position back in Inuvik. Sandra has been accompanying me south from Inuvik for treatment as escort every 2 to 3 weeks for months now and it is wearing. The escort is necessary because of my severe hearing impairment, coupled with "chemo brain" by which I very quickly forget random parts of what the oncologists say that is not written down.

I have continued to write poetry over the years. Since my self-published book of poetry Pine Cones and Small Stones in 2014 I have written at least enough for a sequel, but I haven't decided what publishing route to take with that yet.

I have decided to write some poetry focused on cancer, and I intend to submit it to the League of Canadian Poets for publication soon. I have tried to give the both the fearsome nature of cancer and how each new day feels precious in Stage 4. Your comments would be welcome: this is what I have so far:

Death row

Waiting for the ax

To fall – cancer hides and slinks

Just behind the door

You have cancer

Cancer

Cold grey iron foe

Lurking – hiding

Hide-and-seek monster

Face of darkness and dismay

Pale bloodless skin of death

Hair the color of cremation’s fire

Wearing a long black cloak

To smother each victim

Sexless – neither male nor female

Outside time and space in this universe

Hide and seek

Cancer – sinister

Now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t

Evil incarnate

Heal then thrive

Wind and oak whisper

Cherishing the mistletoe

Mystery healer

Choosing life and hope – survive

Thrive – each new day a blessing 

Here is some black humor for you. With all this radiation I should really shine, just like ABBA in Super Trouper:

"shining like the sun
smiling having fun
feeling like a number one"

The last line is still true, because I refuse to give in to dark thoughts of fear or gloom. I love the fact that belief in healing is a mighty source of strength. Quite often belief is the most potent healer available. And belief now has scientific credence. For example, see if you can find this book in your local library: The Biology of Belief by Bruce Lipton, PhD, Hay House 2008.