burning poppies



fire parade for the dead


flaming torches in scattered line held high

crowd shouted back behind a safety line

celebrants, ministers officiate in stripes


dressed darkly to intimidate memories of war

red suited stranger rides along devil's tails

splitting gonads for laffs and noise spitting

arc light ahead of spent charred bullet case


screams evoked. stifles laughter as the smoke

evokes the War in mud so here : sticks are rifles.

over amplified comes over as cod eulogy flashes

the ears while sincerity plays out the church gate

we stand flickering eyed


"Feed the World ..."

murders silence

saviours hurry

"Turn it off, Harry"


Peace after a slowed to halt drum

Torches squared parafin trickle

air with smokey wax and uncertain

light that makes black to meet

the dark


poppies burn by the church gate


plans broken into an atrocious 

conflict of split fuses sputtering

orange stars into painted skulls


burning splints takes cordite's place

making the air like thick magasines

filled with dum-dum bullets. homages

to horror waiting for the drum .




the parade moves starkly on





Devils tail.


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