Saturday, 11 November 2017
Gin-clear mirror of the stippled stars,
Trench-traced terrain in pirouetting braids,
Hair-throat poppies windward weave and feint.
Armistice evening finds the lost hussar
Stiff with rainbow silk and medal moons,
Hearing the bladed wire's frayed echoing
Boom, thrash and crump, spritzing sludge
Across shocked hedges, mutilated fields,
Salt-cheeked salute for comrades gone,
His horse unridden, healed from harrowing flight,
Back in the paddock of home, a foal again,
Whickering with joy, nuzzling his hand for sugar.
(Written in remembrance of all humans and animals who have died in warfare, including my great great grandmother's nephew who had three horses killed under him while fighting with the 18th (Queen Mary's Own) Hussars in the Great War in 1915. He died of wounds from a piece of shell while trying to dig out comrades buried alive under a "great fall of earth" during fierce fighting at the 2nd Battle of Ypres aged just 23.)
Sunday, 5 November 2017
Saturday, 4 November 2017
Sitting spent, watching notions
Bubble between stones and stillness;
The sylvan skipper
Through the amethyst dusk,
The never-ticked rarity.
Breathing brecks, waning oceans
Troubled by chelp and chillness;
Waiting for wonder,
Under the wheel and whelm
Of all that is fairest.
Whispering weeds, sinuous motions,
Stubble rebristles a witness;
Upright in the melt of sunder,
Moonsink and dwindling footfall
On the cambered towpath.