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02/10/2014 Poetry - Graham Marks http://www.marksworks.co.uk

Playing amongst the jagged 

aftermath

of Granny’s garden, sharp bits of yesterday

make dangerous toys.

We find, half earth-hidden,

a gas mask,

the shattered, staring eyes not even winking

in the sun.

This grotesque soft skull draws us to it.

Such an evil thing with which to play

and make games of war

and bombs

and silent, coughing clouds.

Putting this fetid thing to our faces

we pretend all the terrors of war.

 

Views: 64

Comment by Rosie Pike on October 2, 2014 at 9:31

A golden heart shaped locket

Embedded

In a white velvet box, memories of love once shared,

A black and white picture,

Love, laughter and loss, . . .

By Fiona Humphries, Ellie Brown, Aidan Murphy and Calum Reed

Comment by Simone Pope on October 2, 2014 at 11:04

Your tormenting smile sends shivers down my spindly spine,

The memory of the past rewinds and plays again,

The pictures cold upon my hand,

 

I close my eyes and the nightmare has begun,

I open my eyes in shock of horror.

 

The portraits image transfer,

The wind of the past pulls me down,

Forever falling.

 

The image frisks out of my hand,

To lie still on the ghostly mask,

The image fades into the mask.

 

White mist lingers up from the ground,

Sends me back to the present time,

To find myself starring into the bright blue sky...

 

By Mia E and Kristina B Woolmer HilI School, Haslemere

 

Comment by Katie Barnard on October 2, 2014 at 11:39

The crimson poppies which fill the field from head to toe,

The crestfallen faces of the soldiers,

Grieving, heartbroken, for their friends and family,

Saying goodbye to their loved ones for the last time.

A key, hidden, in the ground,

Locking the secrets of the past,

Never meant to be found,

Hiding the terror of war.

By Miyu, Annabel and Rapti.   St James Senior Girls School.

Comment by Jayne Davidson, WHHS, UK on October 2, 2014 at 13:56
The worst of times saying goodbye,
Shouting “goodbye everyone1”,
Tears running down peoples’ faces,
Walking slowly in little paces,
Finding the key, deep, deep underground,
In Granny’s’ garden dug up which is now out of bounds.

Skye
West Hatch

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