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Welcome to the Hondón Valley Branch of The Royal British Legion

To recognise World Poetry Day on 21st March 2018 - the Hondon Valley Branch held a Poetry Competition.

Please be aware these poems are the property of the writer and should not be copied without their express permission. 

The Members' Favourite was written by Chris Pedley.  Here is her poem together with the others entered into the competition.

At Hondón Valley British Legion,
and may I say, “The best in the region”,
Once a month we show our attendance
and together, but differently have our remembrance
some of us of kin that has died
and others that still serve with pride.

When Ian the Chairman has said his piece,
the Committee finished and the formal has ceased
to the bar we all rush for a beer or a wine
then back to our tables in time to recline
Hazel’s raffle tickets have all be bought,
now who’s won? Is everyone’s thought.

Horay its Neil’s social time,
together with his partner in crime.
Speakers, puzzles and quizzes too,
exciting, what’s next, give us a clue.
New members welcome, come join in the fun,
there’s something here for everyone.

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Poem by Chris Wyatt

‘‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse.
My cooker was boiling the bunny so sweet,
It was next door’s present which was ever so neat.
The benefit cheque hadn’t come through the door,
Super strength lager cans all over the floor.
The pets had long gone, ‘cause they’d seen my eyes glow,
Into the pot’s where they had to go,
Santa Claus reindeer are steaks in the freezer,
I never did like that beardy old geezer,
All friends round the table,
The food’s all been et’
The Bill’s coming shortly so that’s when I’ll fret!
Merry Christmas

Innit!

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Poem by Carol Wealleans

 


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Poem by Neil Pavitt

An Ode to The Legion On A Cold Winters evening---- 

Four weeks have gone, How time moves on,
I should go and support the Legion, But outside its freezing  The chairman does his best, but I'll be at home in my vest  And out of my logs build a warm, fiery nest 

••• 

Now Sheila does welfare, but when asked she just stares  "wheres my winter fuel allowance"
It hasn't appeared my bank account 

••• 

With Effort we are there, and everyone stares  Apologies for absence, Then Act of Remembrance  With beer that is' warm, and bar staff that yawn  The meeting has Ended" did I record Eastenders" 

••• 

Then without too much hassle, along comes the raffle  A chance to win prizes, everyones delighted
A euro a strip, and with much hope
I really wish to win a coat 

••• 

Us Brit's in Spain, we get it all, we even get a poppy ball  But you must remember it's in November
So to the Ball Ladiestake a shaul


The poppy appeal is such a big deal
We scrimp and Save, to remember the graves 
Everyone counts, then reveals the amount 
Then safely placed into the poppy account 

••• 

Then comes the sun along with the fill 
Menu Del Dia, with loads of beer 
Hog Roast, Pork in a bun, Yum 
Dinner and Dance, with all the Romance 

••• 

August's too hot, like a roasting pot 
Way To much bother to wear all that clobber
The meetings tomorrow, and without too much sorrow
  I'll do some reasoning, I'll be at home
Under my air conditioning
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 Poem by Peter Broadbent

SMARTPHONE

A pocket-sized, multi-coloured screen.
A ruthless, clever "mean-machine"
A drug-like display with addictive ways.
Ingeniously designed:  it enslaves.

Tap it, swipe it, and eventually you'll find
that the rest of the world is left behind.
This equipment has a "hi-tech" brain,
that captivates users, again and again.

Unnoticed and swift, hours pass by,
Time's not important. It's a Smartphone high.
Whether working or simply tapping
They are relentlessly mind entrapping.

Regardless of age, gender and flair,
its hypnotic 'High-ressed' glare,
will slowly, completely, byte by byte,
crick your thumb, strain your sight.

It's crucial to some, this techno-dream,
this 'Twenty four-seven' information stream.
But despite what's believed, I have found:
we don't control them... it's the other way round.

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Poem by Carol Wealleans

The Swell RBL

The Legion I thought,
Was just for the old and wrinkly
Until I joined our local one
It's a myth, I can say emphatically

Then I realised this Legion
Was quite good fun
Nice friendly people
None of whom have a gun!

It's like a club and charity, all rolled into one
Things to do, things to say
A community spirited group
Helping those less fortunate every day

Parties, Balls, treasure hunts and raffles
Challenges, Fund raising and games
All to support our service people
Who have risked their all, in our names

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Poem by Chris Wyatt

Why? Why do we bring such pain upon ourselves?
We know, there lies the truth,
We know that in a few short years our time together's done
And yet we still take on the hurt.
In terms of time, so short, yet long enough to bind us close,
In mutual love and trust, both giving and receiving
Not a waste though, no, for do we not share this comradeship?
But all too soon this must end.
Ah, my heart is breaking, my tears unending, streaming from my eyes
I hold you close, your eyes turned to mine adoring still
As they cloud over, your gentle heart has stopped.
That is the end. No more will you run out to greet me at the door
You, who have given me so much, now must lie in cold, hard ground.
No more to lift your head and push my hand to say, "I'm here"
Oh Lord, it hurts so much and yet I know that soon I must
Take it on myself to earn another's trust, a waif or stray to lie down by my hearth
To look at me with gentle eyes, to run and bark in joy of life, to comfort me in time of  sad distress
And once more become the companion of my heart

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