Poem of the Month - November 2019

A hundred years ago.
Under skies so foreign to you all.
Who could have known?
That so many would heed the call.

I hear your names.
And pray for your souls beyond the fold.
The most dangerous game.
Mankind has got to learn before we’re too old.

Brave men of my country.
You pass the torch to me.

The poppies grow.
In Flanders Fields where men did die.
And row on row.
The crosses planted side by side.
The seeds we sow.
Grow in the dark to shine a light.
The poem echoes.
Those words again into the night.

A father and a son.
He stepped into a war to serve the crown.
And victory won.
Through sacrifice, many lay in that ground.

And so I stand.
I face the memories you all left.
As we place another wreath.
And pray that it won’t happen again.

Brave men of my family.
You hand off the torch to me.

The poppies grow.
In Flanders Fields where men did die.
And row on row.
The crosses planted side by side.
The seeds we sow.
Grow in the dark to shine a light.
The poem echoes.
Those words again into the night.

Through the wind and the cold and the rain and the snow.
We’re carrying on through the quarrel you raised with the foe.
We stand and honor you all one more time.
Close our eyes and listen to those lines.

The poppies grow.
In Flanders Fields where men did die.
And row on row.
The crosses planted side by side.
The seeds we sow.
Grow in the dark to shine a light.
The poem echoes.
Those words again into the night.

 

How long had it been?
No matter, as she grew,
she dreamt of children.

Even as an only child
born of an only child;
where she was in life,
she wanted girls.

Not just one - to raise as
an only child and still be
alone in one’s mortality.

It was a time of war
when first conceived.

The streets were grey
and rubble-filled
in stillborn drifts of snow.

She had conceived
during a time of war;
she knew she’d have a girl,

when prayers would echo
from ruins of rooftops,
for God is great
’Allah akbar’ in the smoke.

What a beautiful child,
born when there should be
flowers & ripe persimmons.

She knew she’d have a girl;
it was a time of war—
how long had it been?