Passchendaele (RE-POST)

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[Here's a poem I originally blogged in 2014 with a link to the audio I produced for it on Soundcloud - it is a collection of 8 haikus]

Blind, wide open, eyes.

Dripping poppy petal tears.

Crimson rivers flow.


Fields transformed to mud.

Deep cut trenches scar the earth.

Wounds that will not heal.


Gas clouds drift from hell.

Death exhaled in fetid breath.

Lost boys fall like flies.


Ghosts haunt no mans land

searching for their bitter souls

in butchered bodies.


Finding empty shells,

cold bullet riddled corpses.

Nameless and broken.


First light cracks the dark

Holy, holy Seraphim

burn the battlefield.


No place for God here.

Just the stench of charnel house

and false politics.


Loss of Innocence

on Golgotha’s barbaric

ridge at Passchendaele.



◄ Next Years Model

After The Storm ►


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Hannah Collins

Sun 17th Sep 2017 12:09

I am glad I found this poem. An important subject. I saw the coverage of the anniversary on TV and people were taking flowers for great, great, great 'uncles'. Not many great grandfathers and I realised that the soldiers who died were too young to have become fathers themselves. That is very sad.

<Deleted User> (13762)

Mon 31st Jul 2017 21:45

thanks for this Ian. I was earlier reading up on Hedd Wyn the Welsh language poet who was killed on the first day of fighting on Pilckem Ridge. There are a couple of interesting links about him on the WoL Facebook page if you're interested. All the best, Colin

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