Arty Farty Friday ~ Poppies

On Sunday, the 11th day of the 11th month, it will be Remembrance Day in the UK. Many will have been wearing poppy symbols in their lapels during the week remembering those who died in two World Wars. "We shall remember them!"

For this Arty Farty Friday, I've chosen a handful of paintings featuring poppies:

 By Georgia O'Keeffe

 By Fred Stead

By Monet

 By Mary Cassatt

 By Chris Chapman

POPPY DAY

It is Armistice Day (also known as Remembrance Day and, in the USA Veterans' Day). In England 11 November is marked by 2 minutes of silence at 11 am; sombrely dressed dignitaries lay poppy wreaths on Cenotaphs in cities throughout the land to honour the dead of two world wars, 1914-1918 and 1939-1945.

Traditionally today commemorates the armistice signed between the Allies of World War I and Germany at Compiègne, France, for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War I. It took effect at eleven o'clock in the morning—the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" of 1918.

Back in England, I always wore a poppy in my lapel in early November, as did millions of others. I almost certainly owe my own life to those who died to win World War 2. What makes me sad (and lately very angry) is that the world hasn't learned the lesson those many courageous men died to teach us.

This year The Tower of London's moat has been filled with nearly 900,000 ceramic poppies, to commemorate the First World War's start one century ago, and the number of British and colonial troops who gave their lives in the course of the war, 1914-1918.

On our last visit to an antique-cum-junk store I noticed this pretty poppy display on sale for for a couple of dollars and bought it for just this occasion- instead of wearing a poppy, I can display a bunch of 'em.


THE INQUISITIVE MIND OF A CHILD (Author unknown)

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.