Tag Archives Helmand

POPPY DAY

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Newly returned from Helmand, almost intact,

the Regiment stands to in scattered rain.

City dignatories and citizen privates

remember. They sing: ‘Where, Grave, thy victory?’

The Bishop blesses them all. A boy whimpers.

 

Old men, straight-backed, march singly into town,

medals jingling like choices. November wind

troubles the eye: remembering mates,

remembering merely being young, not dead

merely. This is a willing grief: forgetting

means that, for principle or custom,

death is merely dying, and the so-called

blood and treasure contract merely words.

A SENTIENT PLACE

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This day marks fifty years since we came to live in this ...

THE BELVEDERE

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You and I with fifty valentines and February’s sun pale on the ...

THE RECLINING GARDENER

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On the first spring day of prolonged clear sunshine she mows the ...