NaPoWriMo day twenty eight. After yesterday’s frivolity poem number twenty eight is much more sober and was inspired by Anzac day, the centenary of which took place on 25th April.


Sunlight dances on bleached beaches.

We remember a time

when men were killed in their pursuit.

Penned in small coves they fell

over fallen comrades like sacrificial lambs.

Crowds bow their heads

shedding tears for their forebears,

disconnected lines on the family tree;

branches cut before flowering.

Young men, straight and tall

mark the passing of those lives against their own

and thank some unknown presence,

call it God, call it luck,

that they were not here a hundred years ago

Blood Red Poppies Grow in This Field

Here’s a poem that was inspired by a book of poems by the World War One poets.

 Blood Red Poppies Grow in This Field

Blood red poppies grow in this field.

Delicate arched stems strain to control

bright lamps bobbing as if on elastic.

Day closes and hanging their heads

they fold themselves in like old men

made weary by the passing years.

Morning calls them to arms.

Tissue petals stand attentive to

the sound of bugles only they hear.

Too quickly their young crowns fall

leaving them bare headed save a cluster

of seeds soon buried in the earth,

a parting gift to remind us next year

that blood red poppies grow in this field.




We Are She

NaPoWriMo Day 7. Here’s another poem prompted by the NoPoWriMo site but inspired by a poet I had never heard of before, the late Gwendolyn Brooks. Here’s Gwendolyn’s poem, it’s called We Real Cool

We real cool. We

Left school. We

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We

Die soon.

Here’s my poem, it’s called We Are She.

We Are She

We wage war. We

Want more. We

Break glass. We

Hold fast. We

Stand proud. We

Shout loud. We

Stay tight. We

Show might. We

Are strong. We

Wait long. We

Are She and

She is We.