Sweet is the calm Poetry.uk

Recently I had a vacation to the village of Hawkshead in the English lake district. This short poem I have written is about a local stream called Blackbeck and the walks we undertook along its banks and local countryside.

On a misty early morn,

Within the shaded vale,

Where a cobweb-soaked display,

Hanging, balanced, frail,

Bridge the straight stream,

Step the track as we go,

By a barbed wire fence,

Celandine’s and wild garlic grow,

The cuckoo sounds his first call,

Across the flood plain Curlews glide,

Newborns bounce between the shadows,

A mating season for the husband and bride, 

Cast as the sun breaks through,

Sheep silhouetted against the sky, 

Wagtails in the Beck,

A church bell tolls on high,

Warmth of the glowing light,

A solitary barn on a hill,

Machinery standing guard,

Silent, empty, still,

The pathway now well-trodden,

With all there is to see,

Walk next to mother nature,

Breathe, exhale, free.

James Findon © 2026.

_{Saturday May 16th 2026 is Armed forces day in the United States. This poem I have written is dedicated to all those from the US that served and passed through England during WW2.}

_{To the west of Cambridge is a unique plot of land, donated to the United States to bury its wartime dead. With 30.5 acres of ground it contains some 3,812 burials with 3,732 crosses and 81 stars of David. A wall to 5,127 missing runs East to West on the South side parallel to three reflecting pools with Old Glory at its West and a Memorial Chapel to the East. A fitting tribute to honour those that served in this country and made the ultimate sacrifice. Many of those buried here and on the wall of the missing are from the 3 US air divisions that were based around East Anglia. The American Battle Monuments Commission runs the site which was donated after WW2 by the University of Cambridge and dedicated July 16 1956. There are also some post war burials here}.

Two of those listed on the wall of the missing include Major Alton Glenn Miller and Lt Joseph P Kennedy Jr, elder brother of President John F Kennedy.

With white crosses row upon row,

A sweeping vista there to show,

In Onsteads landscape true,

Many dead from World War Two,

The land gifted by local scholars,

Not paid for with any dollars,

And a wall for the missing standing tall,

Some famous people we recall,

A band leader and a first-born son,

Of an ambassador for a presidency won,

Rosettes now for those discovered,

Once lost their remains recovered,

Names reflected in the pond,

Brothers in arms with a bond,

Ties all those that lie here,

A moment now to shed a tear,

Above the wild blue yonder sky,

Beneath Old Glory flying high,

And the Oak groves standing there,

Near the chapel mourning Angels stare,

For the combat missions near and far,

Purple Heart and Silver Star,

And the stories they dare not tell,

What it was like in that hell,

Passed through these shores and overland,

Onto the Norman blood red sand,

Some to return and be buried so,

Madingley’s epitaphs there to show,

Upon the gravestones now to read,

Names we know for those that need,

Solace and comfort for the loss,

Of many buried here under a cross,

The Star of David there as well,

Reminding us of those that dwell,

Beneath English soil from where they flew,

Army, Air Corps and Navy Blue.

James Findon © 2026.  

https://www.abmc.gov/

Remembering on this day, Lt Ralph Shaw DSO, 11^th Battalion Royal Warwickshire Regiment, Son of W W E & Lucy Shaw of Handsworth, Birmingham. Killed in Action 28^th April 1917 Battle of Arras.

A young man’s call to arms, 

From the midland urban sprawl,

Full of life and youthful charms,

Leading men into battle one and all,

In his uniform made to measure,

Khaki and Sam Browne,

The Antelope to treasure,

Onward as his men fall down,

Facing death upon this land,

Come on boys, lets advance,

I have a Webley in my hand,

And lead a merry dance,

Push on towards the prize,

A shiny bronze death plaque,

To what now do we surmise,

Of the bravery we do not lack,

Buried beneath some foreign sod,

Now in an unmarked grave,

Known only unto our God,

His life they could not save,

And under the Autumn sky,

A memorial to all those lost,

They who returned march by,

Having to count the cost.

James Findon © March 2026.

Inspired by the Dymock poets thought I would write a poem about the Malvern hills having frequented the town, hills and showground in the past and as it’s St Georges day today April 23rd decided this would be a good day to publish.

Rising above that county’s ground,

Oaks and bluebells to be found,

On the pathways high and low,

Views from a Beacon there to show,

Ramblers going on a walk,

Across those hills full of talk,

Scenes across the shaded vale,

Breath to take and exhale,

Volumes of water flowing free,

Down the Severn to the sea,

The British Camp and Hills hotel,

For travellers with time to dwell,

About the hilltop side by side,

Against the skyline they can’t hide,

From those defying the pull of the earth,

Rising high with their solitary mirth,

On hanging frames that do lift,

Clouds above the hills can drift,

Gliding as the ones that go,

Military flying here so low,

Elgars scenery of rhythm and glory,

That tell of dreams within a story,

Over the mounds and hills we sally,

Onward to where the hangman tally,

For those who fell foul of the law,

Not to breathe or sigh once more,

A poet’s paradise to the south west,

Landscapes there to produce their best,

And of the places large or small,

Named as Malvern and Colewall,

One of Stone, One of Wells,

Reverberate to the sound of bells,

In a beguiling part of our world,

The Cross of Saint George to be Unfurled.

James Findon © 2025. 

It’s strange how you can remember some events from your life and forget others. One of my earliest memories that stays in my mind is that of my Mother taking me to the next village from where I lived to catch a train which was being driven by my maternal grandfather. I wasn’t quite four years old but remember the occasion well. Both my mother and grandfather are no longer with us but this poem based on this true story brings back a link to carefree childhood days.

I remember that day quite clearly,

Walking to the station,

Holding my mother’s hand,

Down that road, now in isolation,

Past the big school up on high,

Where my brother was learning,

A future there beckoned,

For home I would be yearning,

Ambling past the fields and hedges,

Under the blue tranquil spring sky,

Safe and secure in a mother’s grasp,

Wishing my time slowly by,

Onto the bridge over the rails.

Tickets bought for the drive,

Down the long staircase to the platform,

Wait for the Leviathan to arrive,

The roar of the engine,

Flow of the steam,

This living soul breathing,

Bringing joy and a beam,

Proud in his uniform,

Steps from the plate,

My Grandfather to take us on a journey,

To which I now relate,

Sit in the compartment,

Wait for the haul,

The carriage now moving,

Taking us all,

Onward we travel,

To the next station,

And then the trip home,

Memories of elation,

As a retirement beckoned,

Mother first to be invited,

Into God’s bosom,

My Grandfather now alighted,

From the train of life,

Their journeys done,

We’re not far behind,

Our race yet to be run.

James Findon © 2026.

I very much enjoy writing Poetry, this blog page is probably a bit of a giveaway. I enjoy the exploration of the subject matter, then creating the verse and the rhyme. And yes I do use the internet to find words and their rhyming equivalent and their synonym. Saves looking through a dictionary or a thesaurus. Putting pen to paper then writing on my PC, printing then reading through and making adjustments before contemplating when to publish. But there’s a new kid on the block. Apparently able to write your verse for you as well as write stories and music. With the ability to make videos and pictures as well. All you need to do is add the content and away it goes creating your work for you. Sounds great, but surely if as a writer and especially with poetry, stories and music, shouldn’t this come from the heart and not an app? Now I know AI is a very powerful and useful tool to use and there’s an AI assistant on this page I can use if required, (not exactly what for as haven’t got that far yet) but where I’m coming from with this is when it comes down to creating something as emotional as poetry then its what you as an author are thinking at the time and how it affects you and the reader.

Unless you’re sure its AI free,

Don’t believe everything you see,

You must not be fooled by all that is sin,

Unless you want to be taken in,

Of pictures, videos and stories to include,

Any media that appears to be rude,

Facebook, X and other sites,

Full of an intellectual bunch of shytes,

Fat people diving causing a flood,

Planes crashing with the spilling of blood,

Which isn’t as real as you might think,

Gone are the days of paper and ink,

With a threat to our own society,

Causing us disorder and anxiety,

Or the best thing since sliced bread,

Only for the world to end up dead,

The end of humanity or so it seems,

Created by our man-made machines.

The writing of stories and of rhyme,

Now created by programs quick time,

The Williams would be turning in their graves,

For a system full of internet slaves,

It’s not the thang to write this way,

For the inside out it should be to sway,

To tug at our hearts and create delight,

Of the written word for this is right,

But now it seems the world has changed,

To how our lives are rearranged,

So let us pray for our soul,

And hope to God we can control,

This process we have now invented,

Not to fall into the hands of the demented.

James Findon © 2026.

Hi I’m James Findon and welcome to my poetry blog. I want to share with you the joy of poetry and maybe inspire you to write as well. It all started with a book I read about a guy named Edward Thomas who was a literary critic who then went on to write poetry. Tragically he was killed in World War 1 and his biography by the author Matthew Hollis is quite moving and somewhere within the grey matter decided I would like to write poetry myself. And the title for my blog was divine inspiration from a hymn “For all the saints” verse 9 ,“Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed” written by William Walsham How in 1864. I write poetry about all different types of subjects some of which are personal some not. I also review some poetry and biography’s and have a good spread of poetry books with a lot of reading and writing to do. Poets that have inspired me recently, apart from Edward Thomas, are Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brooke and Seigfried Sassoon. All war poets from WW1. Other poets would include Sir John Betjeman, A E Housman, W B Yeats and from more recent times Pam Ayres, who I had the pleasure of seeing on stage at Shrewsbury recently on her “Doggedly Onward” tour of which my wife has bought me a signed copy of her book. Bonus!

Disclaimer: Please note that all poetical works on this site are copyright of the author (James Findon) as well as any pictures, illustrations etc. unless otherwise stated and any copy/reprinting must have the approval of the author beforehand. My poetry is written as a way of telling historical facts, observations and personal experiences and are in no way intended to be politically incorrect, racially motivated or offensive to any of my readers. Please feel free to contact me if you have any comment or feedback on my work.

“I might be strange and like a joke, but there’s nowt so queer as normal folk”.

Please check out my other poems and articles. These can be found on the blog sub-pages:

• Book review’s.
• History Poems.
• Military Poems.
• Natural World Poems.
• Religious & Spiritual Poems.

“The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors cometh rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!”

(William Walsham How 1864)