Requiem for Rudy
When the Price You Pay is Your Happiness
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 Category:  General Poetry
  Posted: November 9, 2019      Views: 255
Prologue 1 2 3 4 5... 

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I joined Fanstory in 2008 under the handle "alpacalady". I've taken a few breaks here and there, due to house moves and sometimes finances (lack thereof) but am now making an effort to keep my subscription up to date.

My new name Gypsym - more...

The Seal of Quality committee has rewarded her with 1 seals.

Portfolio | Become A Fan
This work has reached the exceptional level

Chapter 1 of the book RESIDUE OF WAR
The futility of it all
"The Bugle (Grandfather George)" by Gypsymooncat
RIP Grandad George Bathurst Weston
Written by your Granddaughter
Christine Ivins (nee Weston)

He brought it home from war,
among his goods and chattels,
travelling on board a hospital ship
bound for home.

He found it on a beach --
possibly Anzac Cove --
and though I asked my family where,
that still remains unknown.

The date inscribed upon it,
September 12, 1914,
spoke to me in volumes
when I got it in '84.

So battered, tarnished and dull!
The damage it sustained,
could not be buffed away,
nor its sheen restored.
But still, its voice remained....

My Granddad George brought water
for thirsty troops in the trenches.
His own life at risk, he ran,
providing sustenance to those
so dulled by dehydration,
battle weary and exhausted,
from the dust and the fight;
their boots the only things shining
through rivers of blood.

He found the battered bugle,
laying on the sand --
a sad, abandoned victim 
of the elements,
and the enemy's hand.

I never knew Granddad George;
his passing occurred before me.
But he was tall, proud and strong enough
to lift a fallen power pole
from a man who was
trapped beneath.
At least I knew that much!

That was before the war.
After, he was never the same.

But he did not grow old;
the rust made sure of that.
His spirit was worn out before
his body followed suit.
And, as happened way back then,
the frabric of his life and death,
got frayed and thin, like him.

So, this is all I know;
hardly a memory of my Grandad,
save a grainy photo...

...and the Bugle, the beautiful Bugle!
A symbol of hope and courage,
a reminder of a savage war,
a symbol of souls being taken,
and the futility of it all. 


REMEMBERING VETERANS (free verse) writing prompt entry

Writing Prompt


1. FREE VERSE POEM--no end line rhyming patterns (other rhyming acceptable)
2. DISPLAY--1 font color AND 1 background color
3. TITLE--MAY be included with body of poem and/or included above poem with dedication
4. DEDICATION--MAY be included with body of poem and dedication MAY be included above text of poem
5. NO animation, videos, music, graphics
6. AUTHOR NOTES acceptable
7 PICTURE--1 picture above poem, if desired--no words included in, on, near picture--(author's choice IF picture is desired)
8. FONT style--select from Advanced Editor ONLY
9. SUBJECT--Veterans/Past and/or Present (TRUE--NO FICTION)
11. AT LEAST 5 submissions received to commence voting

The book continues with A Safer Place. We will provide a link to it when you review this below.

Author Notes
The photo is of the bugle my Grandad George brought back with him from WWI. The inscription on it reads:

"Presented by the Officers of 31st Infantry to Lieutenant Colonel Dobbin for 1st Battalion of Expeditionary Force, September 12, 1914." My Grandfather's name was George Bathurst Weston. My family weren't too clear on family history, and many questions I asked either went unanswered or were inconclusive.

When Granddad enlisted in WWI, he was aged 20. At least I know that much, and also have this incredibly valuable piece of history in my possession. It is the closest I can ever get to Granddad George.

Thanks for reading!

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