Red Poppies On An Autumn Day

Never forgotten – here to stay,

a symbol of the hurt and pain

where young men will forever lay.

The old man sells and we will pay

to wear a token for the slain -

never forgotten – here to stay.

Would they have approved? Who can say

If what was lost was worth the gain.

Red poppies on an autumn day

They had little choice ...

Read and leave comments (2)

funeral days

funeral days
should always be like this

early mourning dew
in the eyes of those gathered
under a slate grey sky
(not blasphemous blue)
whose heavy tears
will splash
the golden Judas kiss
of leaves crackling
beneath disrobed trees
betraying the sadness
with their joyful colour

the heavy damp sods of earth
clinging close to the coffin
like the grief
that surrounds...

Read and leave comments (1)

Winterfylleth (October)

We die! We die!

scream the old men

of the trees,

as their grip slips

from skeletal fingers

holding them aloft.

They fall to earth

in a blaze of golden glory,

coming to rest

at the feet of

great oaks, sycamores,

birch and elms.

Rustling in their cardigans

of orange and amber

like dry skin

in...

Read and leave comments (6)

That Which Autumn Leaves

The clowns were funny in the ring,

as they joked and tumbled and fell -

but in the camp, after the show,

they made our young lives hell.

Still in their masks of garish paint

and drunk on Vodka shots,

they cut and bruised and beat us,

hatching cruel, twisted plots.

I never saw the demons

lurking safe behind the masks

...

Read and leave comments (5)