I thought that wars were fought in black and white.
That soldiers, sailors, airmen
soared into victorious flight or landed on beaches
handsome, intact and survived to marry a virgin sweetheart
Who knew how many lived and died
waist high in blood, shit and mud,
snatched moments of battle-weary sleep beside friends,
sometimes just their body parts.
I didn’t know that youth could be snuffed out just like that,
no time for goodbyes or regrets for lives never lived,
children never known, dreams just blown apart.
When I see the red poppy, the merchandise stalls,
the hovering shadow of recruitment,
snaring those who have nothing at all.
When i think of the endless patriotic queue
that marked the death of an old queen who died in her sleep.
The constant barrage of manufactured grief and
the never ending, debauched, depraved, obscene bleating for
more and more…by entitled strangers we didn’t elect
till there is nothing left to fight for.
When I think of that, I think If you must wear a poppy, wear it white.
I never wear a poppy but do contribute to the fund, we have learned nothing since 1918 men women and children still die because of the greed of those in power and as children are slaughtered in Gaza we have a Labour leader who will not condemn nor damand a cease fire, we are a lost species