Poetry Blogs (wilfred owen)
poemagraphic on Smoke and Mirrors (A Letter to Section Twenty Eight) (4 hours ago)
The Next War Is Here
Out there, we walked quite friendly up to death,
Sat down and ate beside him, cool and bland,
Asked of his health and shook him by the hand.
Recoiled in horror at his fetid breath.
Before the world went crazy, he was there,
We treated him as though he was a fly
Who we could swat away - and never die.
We were invincible, without a care.
Wednesday 8th April 2020 12:47 pm
Thank you for your honesty
Without your vivid colours
These experiences would be shadows
Colourless and somehow unreal
But now we see sickly colours of the gas
We feel the helpless panic of the scurry
We touch the comrade writhing in the deadly sea
Your stressed heartbeat
The hopelessness of loss
Despair at the trudge
Sunday 28th April 2019 4:28 pm
Those bells rang and rang and rang
In absence of all now gone from us
All in this earth their life lives long
As those bells clatter the silent songs
Youth slaughtered cattle in this earth
For red bright poppies that sprout to life
Breaking through braved blooded soil
Enriched by a youth of lost loved souls
Time fated a 100 years ago by chance
Angelic eyes and soft youthful faces
Saturday 10th November 2018 11:18 am
The Song Of Trees
They sat here,
back in nineteen seventeen,
beneath my caring arms.
I kept the August sun
from their fevered brows
as piece by piece
they pulled themselves
Their stories made me weep
Monday 23rd October 2017 8:49 pm
Wednesday 5th November 2014 11:11 am
Death Of A Poet
The grey November sky has lost its light,
just one more boy has fallen to his death,
another lad who won’t survive the fight
or pass beyond this final exhaled breath.
Though many soldiers leave this war unheard,
their stories lost forever, never told,
this one will paint us pictures with his words
that will not lose their power or grow old.
A week beyond that fatal can...
Monday 4th August 2014 7:05 pm