Posted by: Postordinandy | August 4, 2014

1914 – 2014

In Flanders field

The poppies weep in frozen disbelief:

Heavy tears hanging their petals to the ground,

Like old beggars under sacks, perhaps?

flanders 1.

For the dead they remember increase in number by the hour:

No longer filmed in sepia tones,

Captured images from torn and faded photographs,

But resplendent in violent hues of shrapnel red.


We few, we happy few majority,

Who can mute the echoing cries of anguish with the casual flick of a switch,

Dull our minds to the disposable departed –

Their images replaced by dancing kittens.

flanders 2

The casualties of war, those for whom the Bell Tolls,

Are not – we insist – kindred souls: we see no empathy with

Those who, but for a twist of geographic and ethnic fate

Would have been our neighbours, our family, our colleagues and friends.


If I should die, think only this of me:

That my life is worth no more, no less,

Than that of the torn corpses on news channels and magazine copy.

As Edwin intoned: what is it good for?




  1. […] a poem called 1914-2014 I wrote when we started thinking about the 100th anniversary of the start of […]

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