May holidays remind me of
family, with Mother's Day, and, time to think about what we stand for, with Memorial Day. The prompt, Poppies, can lead
to some interesting imagery. I asked the Poets to choose one of those themes, or, as usual, to surprise me with one
of their favorites. Here are their May offerings:
WWII Bombers’ Memorial in London
We come to lay our lapel poppies
At the WWII Bombers’ Memorial,
Finally standing proud in London,
We come because they were our dads,
Our granddads, uncles, and brothers,
Boys who gave everything they had
Inside the brains and bellies
Of graceful dragons in the night skies,
So few of them came home,
And those who did had a part broken,
As duty was hidden behind shame,
As honouring them went long past due,
Now we come to honour our familial past,
And lay our fragile paper poppies
Lovingly at their feet,
Tears for the years broken.
For the Fallen
I’ve fallen with the petals of the cherry tree
back into the earth, the absorbing
no home for me on the sidewalk,
just a tiny square of dirt open to the vastness below.
I’ve had my days in the sun, my time of flowering.
The calls to riot and rebellion
spring rain carries me down
into the silence of stone and root.
I know where I belong.
thy father and mother
Honor thy sister and brother
Honor is earned
those who returned
War is good for power nations
War is good for corporations
But war’s not good for children
Opt for peace and
A Thought for Memorial Day
She digs in the dirt
wrenches up weeds
gathers scattered seeds
all to get
to the root
She yanks down
the vines that bind
fences and trees.
Wilted and withered
they fall in ropes
around her knees.
She leaves them
Piled in place
as her hands
in penance ply
trying to eradicate
I tried to wash the woven rug in cold water,
to get the smell out, the mouse droppings.
never wash your Navajo rug.
So I sat it out in the sun for a bit to dry,
to air out for a few days, here in there.
And read later;
never place your Navajo rug
in direct sunlight.
So I folded up the rug
to be placed inside a container.
And then I read;
never fold up your Navajo rug,
just vacuum it to suck up the bugs,
then roll it up nice and snug.
And so I began to wonder,
we approach Mother’s Day,
have I treated women this way?
Tried to wash them, save them,
put ‘em out in the sun to
or fold them,
then, walk away?
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