Poetry Blogs (petrarchan sonnet)
A Poppy In Winter
November mists come down in shrouds of grey
and folk remember, with their poppies red,
the loss of sixteen million war dead
and how the guns fell silent on this day.
So who are you to deem to have a say
on whether I should honour those who bled
by crimson colours? – or perhaps, instead,
in remembrance there is another way.
For I would guess that mo...
Tuesday 6th November 2018 3:16 pm
This world is brutal in its bitter way,
destroying beauty, tarnishing the good,
Hurting the carers, harming those who would
do better with their lives each passing day -
those who, despite all that the doctors say,
take back some control – if only they could
get up from where they drown beneath the flood
of good intentions. So today I pray:
when you’re hu...
Thursday 26th April 2018 4:33 pm