Emma Holmes entry piece for “Field of Remembrance 2015”
This piece of poetry was created as a part of English achievement standard 1.4 produce
creative writing, which is derived from the Level 6 Creating Meaning strand [writing] and
related achievement objectives in the English learning area of The New Zealand Curriculum,
Learning Media, Ministry of Education, 2007. The foundations of this creative writing unit
was to explore the past and present, focusing on one aspect of life in two different time
periods. I chose to focus on making a relevant New Zealand connection between the past
and present, one that reflected a citizens perspective of the conditions of war and the
contrasting perspectives of these brave men as they were, and as they are today.
The Gallipoli campaign was a brutal one, with 93% of the New Zealander’s sent being either
killed or injured. This poem is a representation of the terrible conditions that the sons of our
country had to live through daily. It also contrasts the environment with how it is today; a
war memorial that is visited daily by tourists and by those who want to honour the valour
and gallantry troops showed while fighting for our country. ANZAC day is an important part
of New Zealand heritage, and deserves to be remembered. It alters our identities and the
lives that we lead, for without the troops who gave up their lives for us, we may not be
living in the free country we do today. Citizen’s perspective of this battle is changed
drastically by the way that we remember and celebrate the event. Individuals in our society
have no idea what it was like to fight for our country during this time, and people tend to
take themselves out of the situation and not truly understand the severity of the soldiers’
situation. This poem does the opposite, and reminds people that it took extreme courage
and valour to fight at Gallipoli. The Gallipoli campaign will always be associated with loss
and is close to the heart of many New Zealanders. This event also showed brotherhood,
with Australia and New Zealand fighting side by side. April 25th is a time for us to unite with
Australians, Turks and the like, as is portrayed in this poem. Peace and reconciliation is
made through us continuing to honour the gallant soldiers every year and this poem
reminds us why these courageous individuals deserve to be remembered.
Emma Holmes
Poem entitled: Gallipoli
It is a day of mourning, a day of impossible sadness.
Turks and ANZACS, once divided as enemies, but today they are one.
The bravery of the dead is honoured with sweltering heat, each soldier represented with a
rough slab of stone, laid to rest under the arid landscape.
Sorrow fills the still day, expanding to the edges of Gallipoli.
Salty air from the ocean slowly swirls into nostrils and grainy sand is a mediator between the
crumbling land and dark blue abyss.
A bugle slashes the thick atmosphere like a victorious sword, the notes accented with
blooming red petals.
It is as if the sea has captured the sorrowful and is drowning their innocent souls as tears
pool in their eyes.
The blue sky is their only clarity, the thousands of bodies buried under the earth only
tormenting them further.
The wound is ripped open, raw emotion travelling from person to person like a train on an
endless track.
It is a day of battle, a day of substantial loss.
Two sides are fighting to the death for their countries; Allies and Central Powers.
A hollow sky is above them, the blank canvas choked with ashes; the sea lies as glassy and
black as the cups of campsite coffee against the bank of Gallipoli.
Over sand bags is an endless array of figures, almost blending into the desolate terrain.
Almost.
A sweet smell of smoke mixes with the heady smell of the end and fills the air while a stiff
breeze flaps coats around ankles.
White puffs fill the icy trench as the men breath heavily in anticipation of the impending
confrontation.
The jagged earth is cold and as hard as stone as the soldiers lean against the side of the
ditch, death machines flush against their cheeks.
Screams pierce the silence as the first gun is fired; another spirit lost to the game of war.
When the vendetta commences the world is a blur of greys, blues and browns and as it
progresses their vision is splattered with a deep red.
The dense taste of death is in their mouths, so close yet so far.