A poem I couldn't post on the story side

fridayam

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Kent, September 1940

http://fridayam.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/kent-june-1940.jpg?w=237&h=300

Children in a chalk trench watching the sky,

hop-pickers kids, down from London probably,

working their holiday while their homes get flattened, stopped

by men fighting for their lives above their heads.

One sister cuddles another,

a little girl is bemused on her brother’s lap,

held tight; the smallest boy sits

agog, eyes rolling following the battle.

Opposite him, an older girl could be

the heroine of a wartime romance

and might have become your

sneered-at teacher.

All sit or squat, except one boy

stood but still bent-kneed, his hands

warding off the sun or

stray bullets.

All show on their unsullied faces

fear, worry, awe—except

one angelic boy who looks like he wants to be

part of that deadly, incessant tournament.



(I can't show an image of children on the story side, but without it the poem is meaningless.)
 
Thankyou for that my husband tells me stories of when his family were bombed out of Islington. His father went back to clear the house with his horse and cart (he was a greengrocer) and as he got to the end of the street the bomb in the chimney went off ..... a lucky escape indeed. His family used to go hopping too and his mother wouldn't allow them to have a hut until she had checked the beds for bed bugs!
 
What does it mean to "go hopping"? And what are "hop pickers"?
 
Oh Lord! If I'd spent 10 hours a day on that job I'm not sure I could ever drink a beer again!

Thanks for the link, UYS-- there is definitely poetry in there!
 
Kent, September 1940

http://fridayam.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/kent-june-1940.jpg?w=237&h=300

Children in a chalk trench watching the sky,

hop-pickers kids, down from London probably,

working their holiday while their homes get flattened, stopped

by men fighting for their lives above their heads.

One sister cuddles another,

a little girl is bemused on her brother’s lap,

held tight; the smallest boy sits

agog, eyes rolling following the battle.

Opposite him, an older girl could be

the heroine of a wartime romance

and might have become your

sneered-at teacher.

All sit or squat, except one boy

stood but still bent-kneed, his hands

warding off the sun or

stray bullets.

All show on their unsullied faces

fear, worry, awe—except

one angelic boy who looks like he wants to be

part of that deadly, incessant tournament.



(I can't show an image of children on the story side, but without it the poem is meaningless.)

hello :)

i'm not sure i agree with you about the poem being meaningless without the picture, though maybe you need to be a brit or be brit-familiar to get the full gist without it. for me, the image was unnecessary but your text is a true descriptive of it. having said that, i'm finding it more prose than poetry - the text - the poetry being found in where your words allow our imaginations to go, the fear and the romance of the situation.

for it to work better, for me (not suggesting anyone else might share my opinion), i'd like to see some fine-tuning, dropping what i felt superfluous (such as "down from London probably"), and generally feeling it taste more 'poetry' in my mouth...

look, Friday, i might be all sorts of wrong on this: the past 24 hrs have been 360 degrees of distracting ... i want to return to this when i am able to think straight. if i am way off the mark, i will apologise and correct my remarks :rose:
 
hello :)

i'm not sure i agree with you about the poem being meaningless without the picture, though maybe you need to be a brit or be brit-familiar to get the full gist without it. for me, the image was unnecessary but your text is a true descriptive of it. having said that, i'm finding it more prose than poetry - the text - the poetry being found in where your words allow our imaginations to go, the fear and the romance of the situation.

for it to work better, for me (not suggesting anyone else might share my opinion), i'd like to see some fine-tuning, dropping what i felt superfluous (such as "down from London probably"), and generally feeling it taste more 'poetry' in my mouth...

look, Friday, i might be all sorts of wrong on this: the past 24 hrs have been 360 degrees of distracting ... i want to return to this when i am able to think straight. if i am way off the mark, i will apologise and correct my remarks :rose:

Your opinions are always of interest to me, chip. Take your time. It is a first for me too to write to a picture, and I don't think I've got that right either, since you can't enlarge it to see the detail I describe. It was the front cover illustration of the TLS a couple of weeks ago, and just fascinated me. Lit won't let me publish it since it has children in it:(

Btw, losing the line you suggested loses also the fact that these are probably not Kentish folk--though they might be. :rose:
 
Friday,

I like the imagery. Me, of course I enjoy the pics with poetry, and think they add a new dimension. But chipbutty has a point too, you can see much of this poem without it. When I would read a line and look at the poem, it just felt cool. It is something I know little of, so it was also a history lesson.

And chippy, we invite (I think most of us do), analysis of our work. So, keep at it sweetness.
 
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Maybe- IMHO- to make it poetry rather than prose (which I feel it is now) you should lose the picture and write what you want us to see. terser lines w/ more discription and less narrative. I, too, always invite analysis, but am shy about giving it as I am totally unschooled in any kind of writing at all. What I offer are just my thoughts. Not directions. btw- I love the pic. Have been fascinated by what Londoners went thru in that period since I first read Narnia...53 yrs ago!
 
Thank you for all your comments (and GM, that was very sweet of you).

I had to put the picture on this because it was why I wrote it: those faces just made me want to write about them. Of course I could write a poem about children in the war--but I wanted to write about these children in that photo, and their extraordinary, ordinary faces and the emotions written so clearly there. The poem is a celebration of the photo and its record of lives lost and found. It isn't something I would normally do, and it made me write something different to what I would usually write.

I'm going to attach the photo in a way I hope you can enlarge, to see the detail on those faces.
 
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do you know the history of the photo? why are the children all alone with no grown-up watching over them? Cockney families are very close knit then and now and I just wonder why they are alone
 
You can post it on the story/poetry side of the site. Sure, there are children in it, but they're not having sex. Children may appear in stories and poetry, so long as they aren't in sexual situations, or described that way.
 
You can post it on the story/poetry side of the site. Sure, there are children in it, but they're not having sex. Children may appear in stories and poetry, so long as they aren't in sexual situations, or described that way.

Unfortunately not true--here is the reason given for rejection:-

"Out of concern for context (as Literotica is an adult site focused on erotica), we do not allow photographs of anyone under 18 on the story side of the site. This includes in member's profile pages. We do accept illustrations or drawings of those under 18, so long as the images are completely nonsexual. However, photographs of actual people under 18 are not allowed. Sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you for your submissions!"
 
Children in a chalk trench watching the sky,
hop-pickers kids, down from London probably,
working their holiday while their homes get flattened, stopped
by men fighting for their lives above their heads.
One sister cuddles another,
a little girl is bemused on her brother’s lap,
held tight; the smallest boy sits
agog, eyes rolling following the battle.
Opposite him, an older girl could be
the heroine of a wartime romance
and might have become your
sneered-at teacher.
All sit or squat, except one boy
stood but still bent-kneed, his hands
warding off the sun or
stray bullets.
All show on their unsullied faces
fear, worry, awe—except
one angelic boy who looks like he wants to be
part of that deadly, incessant tournament.
daft as it might sound (and i'm having to edit for kb probs as i type), this reads better (for me)simply by removing the extra line spacing - my eye sees it more as a poem. how strange! i definitely enjoyed it more, FA, but, while i get you want to be true to the photo, that word 'probably' still doesn't sit well... and hop-pickers kids? is that hop-pickers' kids or hop-picker kids? this is growing on me with each read-through... :kiss: yao,u haove nao lideao haow liaong thaot j,ust taoaok tao ty'pe,u liaoli edited, reads you have no idea how long that just took me to type, lol :eek:
 
daft as it might sound (and i'm having to edit for kb probs as i type), this reads better (for me)simply by removing the extra line spacing - my eye sees it more as a poem. how strange! i definitely enjoyed it more, FA, but, while i get you want to be true to the photo, that word 'probably' still doesn't sit well... and hop-pickers kids? is that hop-pickers' kids or hop-picker kids? this is growing on me with each read-through... :kiss: yao,u haove nao lideao haow liaong thaot j,ust taoaok tao ty'pe,u liaoli edited, reads you have no idea how long that just took me to type, lol :eek:

Knowing how painful that must have been to type, I am very grateful chip--and well-spotted the missing apostrophe in hop-pickers' kids. :rose:
 
do you know the history of the photo? why are the children all alone with no grown-up watching over them? Cockney families are very close knit then and now and I just wonder why they are alone

It was a posed propaganda picture, not a document of an actual incident. Of course, if there were insufficient trench shelters, the adults would make sure that the children were protected first.

The real danger in the Kent countryside during the Battle of Britain wasn't bombs. The Luftwaffe bombs were intended for RAF stations and later for London. The threat was shrapnel, pieces of red-hot metal from anti-aircraft shells, destroyed aircraft and spent machine gun ammunition that hit the ground. Almost any building would be reasonable protection except against crashing aircraft.

Og

Edited for PS: The giveaway is that the children are far too clean and tidy for hop-pickers' children. Hoppers huts had very basic sanitation, if any. A cattle trough for water and any nearby hedge for a toilet weren't unusual.
 
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It was a posed propaganda picture, not a document of an actual incident. Of course, if there were insufficient trench shelters, the adults would make sure that the children were protected first.

The real danger in the Kent countryside during the Battle of Britain wasn't bombs. The Luftwaffe bombs were intended for RAF stations and later for London. The threat was shrapnel, pieces of red-hot metal from anti-aircraft shells, destroyed aircraft and spent machine gun ammunition that hit the ground. Almost any building would be reasonable protection except against crashing aircraft.

Og

Edited for PS: The giveaway is that the children are far too clean and tidy for hop-pickers' children. Hoppers huts had very basic sanitation, if any. A cattle trough for water and any nearby hedge for a toilet weren't unusual.

Are you saying my hubby was a acruffy kid?!! :D and yes he probably was a raggedy arsed ranger!
 
Knowing how painful that must have been to type, I am very grateful chip--and well-spotted the missing apostrophe in hop-pickers' kids. :rose:

it's all fixed - and hopefully will stay that way *fingers crossed*
cheapo keyboard from Asda. damn, wish i'd have saved myself the last two days of brain ache! :kiss:
 
it's all fixed - and hopefully will stay that way *fingers crossed*
cheapo keyboard from Asda. damn, wish i'd have saved myself the last two days of brain ache! :kiss:

There's your problem: you're typing with your fingers crossed!
 
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