In the grey and smudge of charcoal sunless sky
landscape sodden
though the wheat is green as spring amidst the dun
and standing water winks and shines
at such a time, and never mind the worse than grey
the blackest black and red, the dread and horror
in spurts and spewing,
so all our lives defiled, contamination's spread
still, if pen is put to paper
paint to canvas, palette knife with boldness, could it be
that something good survives,
in such a soil inimical, could thrive
become a poppy, field of poppies, Owen's Anthem
Guernica?
When the world is mired in winter, out of kilter, gone to hell
time to fight for bread and roses
put the pen to poetry
fill our hearts as well as bodies
all together stitch the banner, craft pink hats in sisterhood
light one candle, light a million
hold them high and let them shine.
March 24th, Hounoux and Wells, for my Arty-Farty sisters with love
