Anthems For A Lost Generation

*Cherry Tree*

When I thought that I no longer
had tears enough to moisten
the darkening pupils and pearly whites,
something sunk through and caused
me to break away once more
and chase the swifts that
landed on the roof.
Smile and choke I did
but could not understand why.
As I hummed the world thundered on;
they’re not interested in one me
and can’t hear the sounds of one
fallen… cherry. Sweet and round
but sometimes bitter; married to
a stalk that splinters and as it
rips it’s tossed aside; it has
no purpose once its lover’s died.
Fear and loss glides me high
but all I can imagine is a place to
die. Where all that could be and
ever has been, rests above me on the
blossoms of the cherry tree.


*Day After Day*

Dawn was a red haze on the horizon.
The air was humid, the ground hollow,
and silence struck as each hour
twitched by.
A whisper in the trenches
brought a new life to the land.
A spark—just four hundred yards away—
was followed by the rapid rumble
of thousands of manic machines;
thirsty for flesh.
Dirt danced as shrapnel
shimmered but it darkened as it fell
into the black holes of no-mans land.
Another man fell but his fall
was silenced, by the constant
battering boom of beating bombs.
The sunshine lightened the earth
and the human storm slowed
but each charted casualty
dreamt of a quick death
as the days thundered on.


*Frozen*

They sit there in their concrete caves
shouting, ‘cheer up, men—you’ll be
home for Christmas!’
Either in a coffin or beneath a white cross,
says I who can assure you of the truth.
For whilst they grin away their
days, we sit out here and
pray
because we know our use is
limited.


*The Kids Die Too*

When I was a child,
My mummy bought me a lollipop.
We were poor.

When the war began I was fifteen.
I died then too.
The death was plain.

I joined to make the family
Some had earned bobs;
We would not be poor anymore.

Five seconds it took.
I saw my guts after two.
Reminded me of the butchers

Just down Dove Road;
Bob Smithy ran the place.
I served with his son, Drew.

He died too.
Just after me.
We didn’t last a day

In the Great War.


*Mother, Wives, Aunts and Daughters*

She swiped her hand across her face
and twisted the handle of the spade,
challenged the potential her body could bring
for her Country and for the King.

The Mothers, Wives, Aunts and Daughters
knew their lads had been sent to the slaughter
but no mass chaos in a foreign land
could prevent the ability of a modern hand.

Filth divided the marks on her face
as she curled the dirt in haste,
hoping for a second seasons worth of crops
so that there was food enough to feed the flock.

She dropped the spade and pulled at her husbands trousers,
knowing damn well he’d never need them,
‘bugger them all,’ she’d said when she heard the news
but her friends knew bloodier thoughts were her true view.

The Mothers, Wives, Aunts and Daughters
knew their lads had been sent to the slaughter
but none of them would justify the thousands of deaths
brought upon their generation of men.


*Peace*

The air was cold and a thick mist haunted
the dying grass. Murder was in the land
and as the world cleared, the horizon was
spiked with blood. The bones shimmered like silver.
Heads floated into light, smiling at the
rising sun. Crows chained curiously to
the corpses, heads tipped, rip, giggling at their
finds. A patchwork of death littered the floor.
Trinkets of life sunk into the moist soil;
captured for future generations to
explore. The foul smell sunk deep into sweet
flowers, they become bitter for the near
future and winds pull their power over
to those who dread fate. Somewhere behind the
coils, the stabbing wire, excess shellfire and
sleeping souls, shelter those who lay silent;
forever doomed. The air was warm and a
shimmer of light hunted the dying youth.


*Summer*

That long hot summer we wasted away so many of the days as our bodies crushed the shells beneath our feet and golden grains pressed between our toes. One after the other we paraded along the water, wishing the sun to keep on shining so our bodies browned could enjoy the richness of a free life. We danced with each other as seagulls sung and were diving to try and steal our tissues and cans. Triangular wings blustered in the winds and a Childs toy flag of skull and bones waved at us playfully. We sipped away the percentages and chewed at the corned beef sandwiches; our strength lingered on the shore as we smiled at the passers by who took advantage just as we did. The castles in the ground exploded as young ones ran around recklessly and we covered our mouths whenever a slight gust of wind blew at the earth.


*The Game*

The die twists
over the corpse.
It’s weeping.
The skin is raw;
sundried. Bristly hair
in clumps.
Male.
The face has crumbled
into itself.
Shattered. Hollow.
He gambled
for his life.
He lost.
Now they play.


*Tommy’s Lament*

Our faces may be pale and gaunt
but our hearts they drum ever on.

Even when our limbs lay buried
six feet under the chequered soil

you will remember us as we were
full of life, our blood only slightly

spilt. When you are old and we are
young; artillery will dance before

our eyes, as you remember the ones
who sacrificed their souls so that

you could live a safer life.