If You Will

 

Image result for union flag image

Fly the flag,

If you will,

Raise it gently,

But not too high –

Not yet.

Fly the flag,

If you will,

With respect,

Not anger;

Fly it low;

Let the winds

Carry the message.

For there is,

At least a tiny fragment

Of each of us –

A today, a

Yesterday, a tomorrow –

In those three colours

(Or else, in truth, why

Are we in this special place?)

Fly the flag,

If you will,

Without fear,

With no provocation;

In memory of events,

Moreso especially of

Innocents

Who suffered,

Those who are

Suffering still.

Fly the flag if you will:

Know that you fly it for me,

For yourself and

For the futures

Being reckoned.

Even now.

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Abandoning …

Surrounded by the senior-sweet sound

Of memory’s belles, solitary man

Smiles, ankle-fogged, in the last-second avenue.

Miles have been travailed, promises kept.

Above him, reflected in truth-deep eyes

The traditional gunpowder trickery traces

Annual, flash- fast chemical lies

Across the change of year clouded skies.

He has walked with villains, heroes, ghosts

And the closest of friends; is here,

Momentarily abandoning habitual restlessness

To show proper respect, to honour the past.

For the future coming will test wits and will

But may also bring health and new adventure.

Remembrance

Parts of this allotment shed: the frame, the roof trusses, the oil-saturated railway sleepers that it sits on, if they could talk:

… they would recall the young miner who grew food for his hard working family and neighbours in the years of the Great War. The war, they said that would end all wars. The miner, and his pals who kept producing the coal that kept the factories going, with women taking up the tools, that fed the effort that changed the world. The miner whose brother, giddy to fight the common enemy, so full of life he lied about his age when he joined up, left … left but did not return.

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Nike’s Angels.

Steel skeletons,

Scales of carbon grace

These day-bright dragons

Have geology’s patience

As they rest in squat-mode

They preen and purr at

One another, at shadow-clones.

Then, launched by a flash,

They growl orange and white,

Green and monster-black

By the first split-second corner.

In this fierce black-top fandango,

Sitting on the shoulders of every bend

Nike’s endorphin angels

Are urging you on.

Defiant speed and dare-jester balance

Are appropriate respect for tradition’s heroes

And the tomorrow-champions.

Ironbridge.

Work-a-day sun high burnin’

Growin’ dull, respectful red and cider-cold;

Dawn’s melody slowly turnin’

Becoming familiar, restful, old.

Harvest hopes answered

Ripening to warm-honey gold:

English: The Ironbridge

Friends will always know each other –

If their stories be honestly told –

That  distance and language matter not

When time and hearts be weighed and sold.

30/7/2013

Small Boys

There’s so much joy,

So much power and beauty,

In the faces of people

Singing together;

And in the big-small spaces

Between the notes.

 

 

 

But the cannons are

Facing east again

And, although we all

Stood side by quiet side

In the eleventh-hour silence,

Small boys will continue

To play soldier.

 

(Remembrance Day)

14/11/2012