Raggedy Army
As morning bathes in spring sunshine
A raggedy army stands in line.
Unkempt and ragtag, oddly sized,
Unarranged, disorganised.
Red, a splash among the grey
A new parade at dawn each day.
Some heads drooping, some held high,
A handful gazing at the sky.
Fresh and bright to start the morning,
Most won’t see a new day’s dawning.
In summer’s heat, the same routine -
A new head where an old had been.
In autumn’s fading dying light
A hardy few keep up the fight.
But then to hide in winter’s snow,
Till spring’s warmth says it’s time to show.
And bursting forth and standing proud,
Though scattered, battered, thrashed and ploughed
The raggedy army stands again
Eternal homage to fallen men.
This weekend we remember those who sacrificed their lives for our Freedom. Let us never forget or take anything for granted.
The red poppies grow
By Michelle Morris
10/11/2024
The red poppies grow
There where the men lay
Blood spilled for our Freedom
Blood not spilled in vain
For our Freedom was built on their Souls
Those who gave all so that we could thrive
Let us never forget them
Let us not endeavour to merely survive
Every single one of us
Gets to make choices every day
We're alive with infinite possibilities
We have the power a New World to create
A Utopia where all Life is sacred
Where War and Destruction are Defeated
Where Love and Peace and Harmony
Create the Light that our Souls need
© Michelle Morris, 2024
"Our red poppy is a symbol of both Remembrance and hope for a peaceful future. Poppies are worn as a show of support for the Armed Forces community. The poppy is a well-known and well-established symbol, one that carries a wealth of history and meaning with it."
Blood-stained poppies mark the day that human
sacrifice did harden the skins of the less murderous mass
for such a brutal aghast affair, how the God all mighty
would formidable bear witness to grief beyond repair
Out into the fields, neither would yield-with bullets they
would tear but what would a stealthy, shrewd general care if many
died on duty which left a nation dumbfounded by the levity and
gravity of a war that was deemed
to be of grandness, valiant soldiers of fallacious valour
mercilessly gunned down and with
no gratification, them forsaken, while the gutless
general is less sanctimonious, pious in his approach for the
fighting did persist, until finally that last shot,
at last serenity in the calamitous storm, birdsong instead
of less fanciful peaceful flight, that night the serendipitous surviving
soldier did sleep so tight, a nation did succumb to pitiful sorrow
and pain-so the poppies do denote blood-stain and brutal,
grim, gutless gain
Soft flimsy red moths
settled like starving locusts
over brittle straw
the poppies raise up
like soldiers that salute
in a field of silence
I think sometimes of the life there once was:
Of a time when birds sang throughout the woods
And insects flitted between the flowers.
But when greedy hands infected the land,
The beauty was ruined; life lost its home—
And the gentle calls of sparrows and swifts
Were quickly replaced with thundering guns
Foxes found their homes within dead bodies,
And owls on the hunt flew above shellfire;
Butterflies drank from the growing poppies,
Tainted by the blood of the innocent,
That grew like a plague sent to cleanse the land.
In some places, only the dead remained,
Strewn about randomly and carelessly—
Lying like dolls on a child’s playroom floor;
Never even given a proper grave.
With patience, they wait to be discovered—
To be welcomed home by beloved arms;
But, within all their rosy dreams of home,
Hides the truth they have known for far too long:
They remained forgotten; their names are dead.
Out of anguish for all those who were killed,
Nature returned to reclaim its power.
A unicorn travels through the wheat fields and lays its dreams on pillows of poppies,
In your fragrance of wind, as clover crowns itself in bloom,
Over the evening horizon, see, stars were falling,
And in a handkerchief, I knot the embroidery of the storm.
Under my feet, dust grows, and lightning passes through me,
The wind moves among the shadows, caressing itself.
My summer, you who were ephemeral and now delay yourself,
Septembers will come again just as butterflies arrive on flowers.
I don’t see how time flees if my eyes are blind,
Nor how amber flows through the clock, hidden beneath the rhubarb,
Under foreign rains, water suffocates in the abyss,
And crowded seconds walk their fingers through the fords.
From a clock falls a shadow trembling towards the horizon,
I no longer know if I have died or am a bird of salt,
The moment between butterflies sometimes seems a chasm wounding words,
Other times a field of mallows that is silent and deceives you.
On a child, time paints the dew of golden steps,
I gather the swallows from the grass, fleeing from summers that fly away.
I wandered and pondered my bleak isolation
As I slowly perused this wide open space
That one cloud above me seemed, like me, quite lonely
Its passage was slow as it matched my own pace
And then I saw poppies so tall, red and bold
I wished they were daffies in yellow and gold
The lake in its vastness reflected the skies
And sprinkles of sunlight beyond that lone cloud
Peppered the ripples with myriad eyes
And led me to feel like I walked with a crowd
While unopened poppies stand tall with bowed heads
They’ll stand even taller displaying their reds
Could there be any more precious a day
I all at once yearned to be no other place
With sunlight and ripples and poppies that sway
I found that a smile had enlivened my face
For such a sight might make an old poet gay
(Which one should interpret the old fashioned way)
For oftentimes upon my old sofa lain
I reminisce of all those poppies so red
Their petals occur to me now and again
But gold hues hold sway in my head
Though poppies, that day, cleared my mind of its ills
I still wish that they had all been daffodils
the poppies are singing
my ears are ringing
the bombs went off
the poppies are singing
the other teams winning
for now
the poppies are singing a ghostly tune
for the bodies laid to rest far to soon
the poppies are singing
there are too many flowers of red and black
in the field of defeat
that's a fact
the poppies are singing
singing
of there losses
of our victory
of the bosses
that lead us to glory
the poppies sing our story
Pretty pink and purple poppies
perfume peaceful pastures and
prance into picturesque poses.
Proud patterns in pale light
paint playful pictures
in dust particles like
pinpricks of precise punctuation.
Promises are preached, pondered, prayed for
and proven in this patient pastime.
Pushed, pulled, put and pardoned
by a precious and pure performance
in her powerful presence...
preserving this preceived poetry.
The hills come alive with vibrant poppy hues,
From crimson red to golden yellow, a kaleidoscope of views.
They cast their shadows on the valley's gentle slopes,
A stunning aura, beauty that elopes.
In my mind's eye, I envision my love so dear,
Strolling with me through the poppy field, without a fear.
Bathed in the gentle springtime sun's warm embrace,
I place poppy flowers delicately in her hair, with grace.
Enchanted by the beauty, I feel heaven on this earthly place.
Birds flutter and sing amidst pink blossom trees,
Awakening me from my dreamy, love-filled reveries.
They dance and sway in the gentle breeze,
To the whispered melodies of the poppies' tease.
All winter they awaited, hidden in hedges below the hills,
Now, in full bloom, their beauty spills.
I wish this sight could last a little while,
Before the mustard wildflowers paint the hills in golden style.
Birds, bees, and butterflies will join the scene,
Creating a symphony of colors, oh, so serene.
May my heart hold onto this grand sight,
A memory to cherish, a pure delight.
Day woke with the
choir of birdsong and a meadow
breeze, sweet as your kisses. What is
this joy that leaves me filled
with light, with laughter, with
the promise of forever as you crown me with golden poppies?
Our hands linked and
our tomorrows joined; my bouquet is a bundle of cornflowers.
Inspired by "How to Make it Snow" by Theodora Goss
Dancing with Poppies
9/21/2023
In love with sunrises and sunsets, I began waltzing with poppies with glee.
Then came the stark realization, that someone might be
watching me!
For to express one’s spirit so fully is not appreciated in today’s
uptight, online society.
Even, the words “ online society” presented me with base, lonely , staccato keys!
Where we really do not know the other, sadly, only, the keystrokes, what totally, odd hegemony?
Who is real and who is not~ gives one plentiful food for thought aplenty!
These thoughts are always with me, and play a strange, melodic,haunting,
lonely , cacophony!
I decided to cast my fate to the winds,,dance in sunsets and poppies forever, my heart , its drumbeat, forever, dancing in glorious glee!
poppies whisper
across the meadow
solace of distant bells
Red poppies in hearts do fill- connected by war in conflict still.
19.7.23.
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