Shades of red

In shades of red
The poppies bloom.
Acre upon acre
Hundred upon hundred,
Thousand upon thousand,
Million upon million,
Their defiant petals
Rouse in our souls
Remembrance.

We cannot imagine
The mud, the blood,
The lice, the pain,
The loyalty, the pride,
The courage, the fear,
Every shade of human feeling,
Together in hell,
Brotherhood.
For King and Country.

Falling in a moment,
Or suffering for ever,
John, William, Thomas,
Oliver, Michael, David,
James, Edward, Max -
Fathers, sons, husbands
A generation cut down
Never to return.

In shades of red
The poppies bloom.
Remembered still.

I sit on a low bench
Children at my feet.
Dark vermillion, maroon, sienna
Bear down from huge canvasses
Somber and oppressive.
I rise to escape the dread
To run to the light.
Then a small hand
Touches my heart.
“Miss, I love these.
Windows onto the world,
I can imagine anything beyond.”
Different views through a child’s eyes.
We move on, he reluctantly
But I still relieved
To be rid of Rothco.

Why when I look in the mirror
Do I see a picture of my mother?
I look away.
Looking back, mum’s still there.
Pity my daughter
When one day
She looks in the mirror...

In black and white and shades of grey,
They stand there, the dicky bird watching few.
The groom in the ill fitting demob suit, shoes polished with spit.
The bride, voluptuous in white brocade clutching the fading blooms.
Her father, proud, reluctant to smile, relinquishing loving care of his little girl.
Best man, a real rocker, with dark flirting eyes, slicking back black hair.
Two young girls, pretty book ends to the nuptial scene,
Short skirts and coiffured hair, clutching flower strewn prayer books in gloved palms.
I am there, the only one left standing, remembering little of that day.
But how I hated that PINK dress.

Eye Shadow

Central line,
Standing, clinging on, shaking.
There, sitting oblivious to all,
A face in the crowded carriage.
Liverpool Street
Black eyeliner is painted neatly,
Bank,
A pale grey shade softens the right lid,
St Paul’s,
The left eye shaded,
Chancery Lane,
A darkened shade deftly applied,
Holborn,
A flick of mascara.
Perfect.
The doors open
And the world floods out.
The perfect mask remains.