Making Bread

warm kitchen
she made bread
he  at Verdun
remember swimming in the Meuse
kneading dough
blood soured mud
thunder melody of guns
pounding shaping earth
pockets of water
shelter to the rattle
of bullets
no sweet yeast
tiredness and pain
dabbed her brow
called the children in
he crawled
bitter in his own flesh
wanting to flee
crawling over a battlefield grave
mud bone tissue uniform
bread rose by stove
oven hot
barbed wire sting
pinching biting flesh
raise up to move forward
impacted many times
life leaked
as he fell
eyes last capture of hell
as bread browned
in the oven

Pitiful Fear of Being Undead

when you see things at night

from that pointed edge of eye,

lack of concentration makes you


with split dusty lip

blood in a trickle,

there are things that need

to bite to eat,

so hold your breath

and let a simple fear grow,

lurking in the doorway

bareheaded prowler of the night,

heart a ticking clock

raising a clamor

no mortal creature approaches,

mopping blood on paper tissue

red stain dropped scented a plenty,

he has strayed from his paradise

and i am to be his chalice,

teeth and lips taste my flesh,

memories blend and blur,

heart slows to a dull stutter,

revelations pause and pass,

i will go to earth

a blacken chrysalis

and raise my fear another day


Borders With Snow

a storm brought cold,

an everlasting damp

to those corners you hide in

for warmth only to find them

not so secure,

they had climbed for an hour

back to the checkpoint,

road quiet

having to remain and

be vigilant,

headlights pushed the edges of dark,

the two soldiers moved forward,

bolts in position

rifles held ready,

far from barracks and city,

they could be trapped by the snow

that now fell,

old station wagon slowed,

pointing rifles

elderly man placed arm across the

chest of his wife,

simple protection,

one guard shook his head

nodding to the rear,

inside bundles of cloth husks of corn

simple trade,

snow began to increase

thickening on everything it fell

they could make it difficult for them

to prolong a stress and threat

but no,

cold quickly made them compassionate

and as the pick up left,

felt as though they had done right


Mankind Versus Ironmongery

Whilst on holiday a visit to the Tank museum was an engaging visit, Tanks have been with us since Cambrai in 1917 seen then as unreliable and ineffective how much has changed, maybe it is my mind but i saw a machine to be built with ever increasing engine power for speed and range and more deadly firepower, no concern for human operatives three or four cramped and packed.In reality just part of the mechanism.

They where impressive from the first to modern yet terrifying as they are used less for protection and offensive and more in some states for oppression.

Confronted from those so small my daughter would only just fit in to ones whose gun barrel was triple my height of 6ft 5, the day was hot but as you moved through the era’s  fear would become an element and the demonstration in the arena brought it too  mind very visually with squeal of wheels ,thrown dust roar of engine, close your eyes and you felt the end was near.

Historically it was relevant and also a museum that could be used as a warning that man can destroy itself  in ways no other creature can comprehend.