She's a puppy called Poppy.
I let her think she's the boss.
She decides to head right or left.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Fallen leaves gently flown down from off trees
Each represents a veteran deceased
The brave that sadly died so we may live
A stupendous blessing it truly is.
the red poppy is almost an orange-red
two of my favorite colors, reminding me of bravery
the red -blooded soldiers who are willing to sacrifice everything
a field of these blooms parade about in my mind’s eye
reminding me to be more patriotic not just on special days
NOVEMBER 2022
Rightly so, the poppies flood
Early in the winter sky
Merrily stood in field, and this
Existence of mine has passed by
Maybe they'd watch us contend
But are authorities ever sober?
Early now, in Winter's sky
Realise how they owed her
Unwillingly ignorant to the loss, they'll be
Scorching their retinas, a veil of red
You peddling poppy
You soul
Keep
Keep going
On and on
Go and go
Strive above and beyond
Boundaries and imagination.
The sky is far from your limit,
You get it.
Run. Run. Run
Swim. Swim. Swim.
Don’t hit the ground.
You are getting,
Now jump like there is no gravity holding you down.
Flying over the front lines
with the French Escadrille Lafayette
a brown and barren belt below
a strip of murdered nature and yet
during the warm months of spring and summer
seeds in the shattered ground would grow
delicate vibrant crimson flowers
in row after row after row
and in those poppy fields
that's how we remember them
all the fallen soldiers
those unforgotten gallant men
tho' Waterloo was won in a day
in a mad minute this battle was waged
while larks sang overhead in the month of May
four weeks and more it raged
before they beat the Hun had them on the run
it soon became apparent to the allied commanders
it's a long way from the playing fields of Eton
to the poppy fields of Flanders
Sometimes I wonder,
if I’m wasting my seconds
trying to prove love
lasts longer
when you drown it with gin.
Her ghost circles back—
again, again—
the Poppy wears
a saccharine, serrated grin—
(oh, how I’ve missed it)
nestled among
my worn-out keycaps.
I didn’t mean to write her—
I keep pressing delete—
But she never blinks.
That's when I know–
I must
write and write and write and write—
or she erases me.
poppy mania
inspired my kitchen
I ordered a red stove
toaster, crock pot and salt and pepper shakers
gorgeous result
I wear a poppy every day
And always there’s someone who’ll say,
“You’ve got it wrong! That’s not the way,
My man, you’re disrespectful!”
You know the type. They take delight,
Dictating what is wrong, what’s right.
But really I don’t give a sh*te.
I’m not at all regretful.
“Not on your hat! It’s all askew!
The leaf at eleven, not six or two!”
What a ridiculous, pointless to-do!
Really? Does it matter?
So my poppy’s on a shirt, a tie
Low on my coat or pinned up high
I really do not understand why,
There’s so much outraged chatter.
You see, it’s not the way it’s worn;
What piece of clothing you adorn,
Smart as a guardsman or tattered and torn.
What matters is, it’s there.
I wear my poppy how I like.
The haters? They can take a hike!
You wanna moan? Get on yer bike!
My tribute’s my affair.
I've been replaced by a lap dog~at least it's cute,
Its poppy brooch glows bright on its dainty neck.
It yaps and leaps, and like me, its poops pollute,
But could it endure a long and rugged trek?
I’d wager it’d fail~a weary, broken wreck.
Poppy was like the old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, she barely knew what to do.
They always arrived in stacks of tens, still at home are twenty-two.
Today she thought she would sneak off and take a nap, maybe two.
The children were alarmed, where was mama mouse?
They ran room to room, yelling up the house.
They could not imagine where their mama could be of course.
Since she always toils from sun to sun, like a working horse.
Mama! Mama! Are you okay? The ones who found her said.
She turned over and plopped a pillow tightly onto her little head.
Everyone is worried! We called grandma Mama too!
Mama’s eyes opened wide. Cleaning right now is what she had to do.
I am a bright red poppy grown in gardens near and far.
A Remembrance flower to honor our fallen, nothing to mar.
On the western front, in the first world war.
Bright red poppies like me were the first flowers soldiers saw.
Flowers growing on a battlefield really did astound.
We grew there because artillery fire broke up the ground.
Now I am worn on Remembrance Day, each and every year.
As humans wait in hopes that world peace will soon be here.
People of many nations
Rallied to the cause
United in their effort
To end two World Wars.
At the many Cenotaphs
Poppy Wreathes are laid
With two minutes silence
And National respect is paid.
Veterans of all generations
Think of their lost friends
Tears are held back as
Each ceremony ends.
We have kept our promise
Renewed every November
In spite of passing years
We will always remember.
Peacock Poppy, unearthed from the ground
Many did he copy, the robin’s way around
Many tweedles did he tweet–more than any other bird
Poor Peacock Poppy just wanted to be heard
Peacock Poppy, fluttering with sound
His wings so floppy, they hardly speak a pound
Many clouds did he circle–more than any other preen
Poor Peacock Poppy just wanted to be seen
Peacock Poppy, clawing a meal he found
His prey still fresh, all plump and round
Many birds did he lure in–more than his flock alone
Poor Peacock Poppy just wanted to be known
He came to me and gently brought,
the fairest flowers of His thought.
Joy arrived with euphoric mums,
softly as the hummingbird hums.
Purity blown from baby’s breath,
ever innocent until death.
Peace pervaded purest poppy,
tranquil bliss nothing can copy.
Happiness borne from pure lily,
butterfly wings, dainty and frilly.
Gratitude from feathered pink rose;
praises for His blessings arose.
Humility spread bold bluebells,
silken as bunnies’ cotton tails.
Faith that flourished in bright iris,
no other bloom so desirous.
Hope sprung forth from gladiolus,
comforting as lotus’ solace.
Love effused from fan-shaped aster,
greatest from our Lord and Master.
Graciousness shone from all flowers,
teaching of His perfect powers.
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