Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: War

Hill

Eight six five crackles
Hot charcoal stumps spit fire
Occasional scowls
Just about sums it all up
Must have slipped away last night

Spring 1916

Iliad

spring one hundred years ago

made shrapnel of my ancestors

spring back in 1916

saw the shilling and the shipyard

unite to feed the war machine

with rivet and spleen

shredding little worlds

scattering bleak confetti

unleashing beasts whose

brutal children still bleed

the world dry of good.

Kismet

shocking-old-photos-11

Where’s

a place for us?

There’s

no place for us,

Nowhere

no place for us.

Take my hand

Sit and stare

Take my hand

Share your fear

 

We’ll find

a new way of dying

We’ll find

a new way of crying

 

No time,

No hope

No rhyme.

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