The Burnt Bridge by Grimbergen

A winding journey on a bus
Amid the farmland lush and green
Near the Verbrande Brug deposits us
By Willebroek canal serene.

The driver smiles; he's really keen
To recount the history he knows
Burnt back in 1914
When Belgium was in the throes

Of stopping those Teutonic boots
From marching over neutral land
Both language sides were in cahoots
Courageously they made a stand.

Outnumbered (it was not their fault),
They sabotaged the bridge and fled
Alas, their tactics failed to halt
The invasion which came in and spread.

A hundred years on from this date
What a peaceful panorama!
A nearby plaque recounts its fate
Reminder of a wartime drama.

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Historical note: Grimbergen in Flemish Brabant is perhaps better known for its Premonstratensian monastery  established in 1128 in the place of an earlier foundation of Augustinian Canons.

The original bridge was burnt on 10th August 1914

Thomas - at 7 Months Old

At seven months what can I do?
Sit up alone and stare at you.
I can roly-poly on my back
And «advise» you when I want a snack!

I start to learn to think things through
Why, every day there's something new
Not crawling yet, but on the way
After my nap, I love to play.

My latest game does not please Mum
Who tries to put food in my tum
I can close my mouth and make her mad
Though I look a most seraphic lad.

Seven months suit me quite well
Not talking yet, but I can yell
Things are buzzing in my mind
It's just that words aren't yet defined.

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

August Angst?

In August – silence all around
My phone sits there - not a sound
I sent out emails through the day
Has every last one gone astray?

Finding parking at Carrefour
Was easy right outside the door!
No queues: few cashiers at tills
Maybe later this place fills?

Many local shops are shut
Fruit is cheap – there is a glut
Special offers, prices slashed
To lure in punters with spare cash.

But those who do not go away
To a sunny spot on holiday
Cannot afford a brand new car
New carpet or an in-built spa!

I sit here staring at the rain
Splashing down the window pane
And wonder where I'd rather be?
But Brussels seems to grow on me!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

What Great War?

On August 4th*, the world would change
The Powers-that-Were sought to arrange
Alliances on separate sides
Then late in June an archduke dies.

Gavrilo Princip - an unknown name
Fired one shot - and shot to fame
The powder keg of war exploded
And several monarchies imploded.

Neutral Belgium was invaded
German soldiers soon paraded
Wreaking havoc on the way
To Brussels where they soon held sway.

They aimed to pass on through to France;
Dykes flooded, stopping their advance
What followed was four years of hell
Of trench life Sassoon** wrote too well.

A hundred years right to the day
Old Europe started to decay
Death came to young men unprepared
For industrial killing – were they scared!

The flower of youth in mud expired
Because that single shot was fired...
Conscription meant no man was spared
Death came to many – so few cared.

A full four years before it ended
Some hearts and bodies never mended
The armistice bought scant relief
All Nations buried deep their grief.

Today huge cemeteries remain
Reminders stark of so much pain
The «Great» War? Consider if you can
Man's inhumanity to Man.

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

*1914
** Siegfried Loraine Sassoon - War Poet (1886-1967)

Changing Places

French is a language that intrigues;
It creates no end of words it needs
Based on its special culture-base
For example: holidays which take place

In the hottest months of every year;
French factory workers disappear
To the Côte d'Azur or Saint Tropez
But the exodus happens on one day.

The «Juilletistes» are those who take
The whole month of July - to bake
In long and never-ending sun
Resentful when the month has run.

Tired and fraught and in the heat
But bronzed like gods, they're bound to meet
Another breed as quaintly named
(The French so like this all explained!)

On the outward journey; keen and white
The «Aoûtiens» now hove in sight
These August travellers cause a clash
Both hit the motorways en masse!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Homage to Edith Piaf

It's trite but true enough to say
We are enriched by life each day
No tutoring at great expense
Replaces good old common sense.

Like Piaf, we should not regret
Our lost youth or our life mis-spent
But look forever right ahead
And feel things as they are - instead.

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Make or Brake?

On public transport I delight
In watching passengers hold tight
As the «wattman», eyes on road
Tries to cope with swerving load.

The traffic's constant; every day
Canny motorists find a way
To cross oncoming lanes at speed;
The Belgians are a special breed!

While those of us inside the bus
Are not inclined to make a fuss
Just keen to get from A to B
In calm and equanimity.

So often, though, the journey's fraught
Brakes are jammed on, nerves are taut
Standing commuters lose their grip
And onto laps of others slip!

Why get annoyed? It's force majeure
But dramatic meetings can occur
These encounters of a close kind mean
A chance to talk – a brand new scene!

They take it mostly in good part
They're not driving – that's a start
But as I watch events unfold
I muse; what stories could be told!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014