Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Blanket of scarlet
Magic spreads form earth to sky
Dreams of poppy fieds
Haiku 107
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Little red
A Poppy
In a field with others
Like him
Gently sway in the in the breeze
Sometimes watching the other
a couple of lovers
Today I put a little flag
Down, beside a stone
Where grass and weeds were rampant
And the plot was overgrown

I knew not where he came from
I did not know his name
But, today I left a flag for him
As I'm sure he'd do the same

Today I put a little flag
Beside a soldiers lonely plot
Just to show we thank you
And that nobody forgot

A little flag beside a stone
For one who gave his all
A little flag beside a stone
For answering the call

Today I put a little flag
It waves there in the cold
For a soldier lies beneath the earth
Never ever growing old

A simple little gesture
For a soldier long since dead
I cleaned away the grass and growth
So his story could be read

Today I put a little flag
And I hope you'll do the same
Just to show that you were there
Though you do not know their name

Maybe leave a poppy there
It may blow to someone's door
With a thousand other poppies
From those who came before

Today I put a little flag
Beside a stone, so hard and white
For a soldier who gave all he had
Doing what he thought was right

Today I put a little flag
Beside a stone and then I cried
Remembering how young he was
We won't forget just why he died

Today...I put a little flag
Lady Ravenhill Mar 2018
Fingers of wild poppy stems
Entangled in golden hair
Gently curled around
Her delicate collarbones
Butterfly heartbeats echo
into strong, lean hands
Palm to bone, to soul,
they stake his claim
Shallow winds escape
their silent parted lips
Only her eyes upturned,
a light with wonder
to the hazel sunrise in his,
looking lovingly back
To the poppy on her neck
@ladyofravenhill 2018
Jenna Kay Feb 2018
I want you to open up my chest
It's filled with bouquets of poppies and roses
Take as many as you'd like
I didn't grow them for myself
I just want to see you hold beauty
And if it's mine . . .
And when you're sick of roses
Open up my skull
And I'll teach you how to hold a hurricane
Chris Neilson Nov 2017
She lived with her husband in a Manchester suburb
toiling to keep their kid's bellies filled
oblivious to the horrors yet to be lived
"The war to end all wars" and millions killed

From a thread-bare working class
with poorly paid work and a struggle to get by
her future was stolen in August 1914
she didn't have the vote for her husband to die

Tommy and his pals signed up for glory
marching and grinning but gripped by fear
she waved them off with her heart so heavy
as posters warned the Germans would be here

Tommy returned from the front to nurse his wounds
gone was his smile, his whistle in the morn
a haunted look, he couldn't say what he'd seen
she felt sad and lonely, bereft and forlorn

Supporting her husband throughout his trauma
much work to do and mouths to feed
2 years now into this epic madness
more brave cannon fodder was the nation's need

They recalled Tommy for a battle at the Somme
his mental wounds hidden, he stood at the door
she kissed him as he left to meet his maker
she sighed, then cried and collapsed to the floor

On a warm July morning he was sent to his death
cut down in his prime in no man's land
another pointless, tragic waste of a life
most now saw this "Great War" wasn't so grand

She opened the letter bearing the news
they regretted her loss and said they were pained
passed to her loved ones and back again
barely readable now it was so tear-stained

2 months passed and she read some news
they were showing a film at her local cinema
the carnage at the Somme could now be viewed
some family and friends went to see it with her

She saw a body being carried in the trenches
the face of the dead man was screened
that face was Tommy's, she leapt to her feet
"That's him! That's my Tommy!", she screamed

She was led back home to her children
her pain and anguish she could now release
seeing Tommy one last time gave her closure
his face had looked content and finally at peace
In remembrance week, a piece I wrote a few years back. I wrote it from the point of view of a volunteer's wife to give it a slightly different perspective.
No one calls me by name anymore
I'm the Poppy Man to most
At least that's how most folks know me

I've been selling poppies for the legion
Since 1946
Let's was 46
Went over in 43 at 17 years of age
Home in 45, and yep...46
Same spot too.
There's been two owners here at Danny's. Funny thing though....
neither was called Danny. Turns out Danny was the brother of the original owner, got shot down over Germany, so they named the place after him.
I guess that's why they let me come here and sell poppies every year.

Good thing.
Now, I'm getting up there, they let me sit inside the door. Have a nice little table for myself, and they keep my cup full.
I start selling November 1st, at precisely 11 o'clock. That's just the way it should be....11 o'clock.

Over the years, I've put up with wind, rain, snow and I've always held my post. Lost a few poppies in the wind one time, and the funny thing was...people came and paid me for them afterwards. Told me they found them blowing up the street, figured they were mine. Funny things that people do.

I'll tell you 'bout the name The Poppy Man. It started in 1952. A young mother and her daughter were inside having lunch, and I heard the daughter going on about saving change for the Poppy Man. I guess, I was the Poppy Man.
One of the waitresses put a sign up by the register saying "don't forget to save your change for The Poppy Man"....and it's kinda stuck.
That little girl came back every day with her mother, dropped her pennies in and saluted. You know the way kids do...hand open and all. I guess I owe the name to her.
I've collected lots of memories over the years, most of which I can only smile about now. If I start talking about them, I'd just tear up and you wouldn't get the whole, I'll keep them to myself.
I'm a bit of a celebrity in these parts I guess.
Teachers bring their classes to me, every year to get their poppies. They always send me nice letters too, saying thanks Poppy Man. Cute little drawings, and big printing. Nowadays, I appreciate the big printing more and more.
Over the years, I've collected pennies, dimes, nickels, the usual suspects, bus tickets, candy wrappers, subway tokens, whatever someone had in their pocket at the time. I've seen it all in my tin.
The last few years, I guess since about 1997 or so, the cadets send someone down to stand with me for a while during my stint here.
Good kids mostly, dedicated, and with the same determined look I think we all had back in 43 when I went over.
Most of us didn't make it back, I'm one of the lucky ones. Some who did, never came back right if you know what I mean. But, that's all I'm gonna say about that.
There's only 5 of us left now from the old regiment. I can still see their faces when I shut my eyes....young, virile, strong. I miss them all.
I guess that's why I do it. Sell the poppies every year. It's for them. And for the new kids. New soldiers, new wars, it never changes in that way...just a different style of fighting.
Every now and then though, you know I hear that old bugler tuning up his bugle, and I think "not yet...I'm not ready to have The Last Post played for me"...."not yet".
So, that's about it for me, The Poppy Man....everyone knows me, and I'm easy to find ....just head to Danny's, I'll be at the table at the front.
Don't forget your change for the poppy man.
Lina Lotus Apr 2017
In wings of Amapola
I'm wrapped...a new seed found

Atop round midnight strands
circlets keep my dreams

I'm drunk, intoxicated
spring has poured right through my veins

I sit on dirt side dreams
The desert calls my name
For now I sit, I wait
I can only watch through windows

I watch my crystal world
Where butterflies are dancing
And hummingbirds are diving
They dive into white lilies
then jump into Camellias
While Zinnias wait their turn

The lilacs look my way and tell me, "soon your turn...
Your turn is coming soon"
I smile...all I do
For now I sit,
I wait... like Zinnias
wait their turn
Wrote when I had no choice, but to be in bed for daaaays! the longing to go outside, to feel the sun, to touch the soil
Next page