Flags Jousting

The plain song moves 

Drifting on the wind

Flags riffle

At its passing

A nervous horse

Prances and kicks

Death pauses

Wipes his plate 

For rich feeding 

Combat approaches

 

Flags

They are weaving flags

Long silk threads

Twined and intertwined

Shrouds for the dead

For the not yet dead in truth

For the battle is yet to start

And each potential widow

Takes her proper part

Nimble fingers perform

Seek and check and find

And correct and weave

In distraction for the mind

The unspoken thought

I weave as well as I can

In case this flag

Shrouds my man

They are weaving flags

Dreading day’s dawning 

For the fight will start

That coming morning

And by that day’s end 

Some will give a widows cry

While others

Will try 

Not to smile relief

That they will leave 

With their man

As others grieve

They are weaving flags

Long silk threads

Twined and intertwined

Shrouds for the dead

 

Flags II

They lie there limply

Against their poles

Half masted

Becalmed 

This windless

Breathless day

As though so drained of emotion 

They have no energy for even 

A desolutory flutter 

In acknlowledgement

As the quick lime is poured 

Over the still forms

Of  the massed warriors 

Culled 

And this battlefield

Is tidied and readied

For the next time

Half masted they lie

For a little while until

They fly once more 

At full mast

As though to say

It is forgotten

At full mast they fill out

Proudly in the rising wind

 

flags iii

the children run and play 

in the recreation ground

no signposts there telling

it was once a battleground

to most people 

it is an unknown

that they run and play

over slaughtered bones

the children carry 

in small hands

miniature flags

to carelessly stick atop

their castles of sand

 

Flags iv

They wear little badges

Each fastened with a pin

To ties or lapels

Or just to anything;

Pinned there to ensure 

They display and show,

So that the other old men,

Other veterans can know

Their like from the crowds

Walking this beach this day

Or just enjoying this clean air,

Or just watching children play.

 

They wear their little badges 

And in little groups just stand,

Realising after all those years

The blood has washed from the sand:

And all those who perished,

All those who ultimately gave

All they had in valour are now

Tucked away in his marked grave

Over which the flags constantly fly.

Flags that match those badges pinned

On the last few here before they too die

 

They wear their little badges, 

Each fastened with a pin

To ties or lapels 

Or just to anything,

And they watch the children play

In this long cleansed sand

And maybe for the first time

Some of those old men understand

That many paid the price 

So this could be;

For flags to fly on castles of sand

Over this beachland that they set free