Gold Beach Poem, by Richard DJJ Bowdery, at My poetic side

Father and son, hand in hand, laughing their way to

the waters edge,

One hot summer’s day in June,

With bucket and spade at the ready to build a

fortress of sand,

Under the shadow of a concrete pontoon.

While brothers in arms wade ashore, met by a salvo

of death,

To establish a key beachhead,

As bodies are ripped asunder, amid adrenalin,

anticipation, fear,

Turning this gold beach blood red.

Into the bucket goes golden grit, it isn’t blood red no

more,

Time and tide has washed the stain away,

And though unseen uniformed men fight forward,

For many it will be their first and last day.

Father and son turn back from the shore stepping

over wilted flesh,

As bullets select more casualties,

They pass two women going for a swim among the

landing craft,

No time for wolf whistles today ladies.

Soon all is quiet, visitors long gone, so the sun sets in

the west,

No more dying beneath the clouded light,

Teatime for father and son then a story before

bedtime,

But who’ll read to the boys sleeping on the beach

tonight?

Author: Richard DJJ Bowdery (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
Published: June 16th, 2023 12:24
Comment from author about the poem: This poem was sparked by a holiday in Normandy. I was sitting on Gold Beach with my family enjoying the bright, warm weather. Looking at a wrecked pontoon my mind went back to June 1944. Suddenly the beach wasn’t so attractive as soldiers were welcomed from their landing craft by an incessant volley of bullets. They began to fall all around me. Some cursing, others silent. In amongst it all sat I on the sand, eating my baguette. And the scenes of such carnage whizzed, liked bullets, within my head. I sought sanctuary in a fox hole and wrote this poem.
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