conceived in a cellar, of
a Tommy home on leave,
mother waving mistletoe,
shortly she would grieve
official dad inert upstairs
exempt due to his arches,
Tommy back to trenches
bullets or forced marches
killed in action in the mud
in my blood's a war hero,
official dad a profiteer,
moral fibre less than zero
the duality in mistletoe,
fertile of ...
Sunday 6th December 2020 11:31 am
dusk in the copse is foggy, and after rain there's
mud, so you watch your step as rubber
boots kick life into the mess.
lights the ploughed churning, or stars sputter at such
perfect mire, it harks instead at
mad trenches, branches
dripping onto brambles sharp as barbed wire.
can worms survive this clay or do
gills get jammed as mouths and rifles did, each
Thursday 6th August 2020 1:47 pm
Archaeology was my chosen field,
Artefacts and pottery sherds, that sort of thing
Above all I strove to date that
Bronze Age hair those white thighs, her
Confusing layers of strata.
In muddy trenches our
Trowels clashed and one wet field trip
We excavated each other.
Epochs later I observed her digging in a charity shop
An old ruin now,
A bit like myself
Wednesday 6th May 2020 10:57 am
Why I went back
A posthumous poem in the voice of Walter Tull – 28.04.1888 to 25.03.1918
Until you’ve been under fire
hunkered down in some funk hole
you’ll never know terror, the horror
or the damage to the soul
that just one barrage can do,
before you ever hear the whistle’s blast
that, sadly it’s true
for all too many,
signals this’ll be your last.
Friday 17th January 2020 6:44 am
I went to an extraordinary exhibition last year called "Spirit of Anzac" which was touring all over Australia. It came closer than anything I've seen in capturing the daily experiences of those who fought, and died, in the First World War, and especially in trench warfare on the Western Front. I have tried to express something of that experience, as I understand it.
Adagio of the Heart
Sunday 12th February 2017 9:38 am