In my apron

Poppy field by van Gogh, 1890. Image credit

I will not let this snow cover

of violence deaden my world

into breathless radio silence.

I will not let sandpaper words,

the hard, wind-tossed hearts of vandals,

swamp out the daisies and poppies

when and where it’s spring. I’ll let drifts

of leaves fall wherever they want,

weave against this doorsill in autumn.

I’ll pluck huge bouquets of hope,

keep them massed in my apron

like secret talismans. From the red

wildfires of poppies I’ll pick them,

and from the red, dead leaf banks.

I’ll walk miles of cheerful wildflowers

and the sky’ll sew its own linings

overhead in gold and silvershine.

And the sharp-spiralled razor wires

won’t stop a single leaf. Or stop me

from holding the flaming bunches

in the crook of my torn elbows.

***

In praise of some violence

Take that helmet off!

Come show me a different face, you know you can;

take off that helmet, close those cocked gun eyes,

collect and still in your lap those grenade hands

and wipe up that small smudge of blood and lies

from your lips, that dribble of hate, go on;

finally switch off that screen, delete that plan

just stop carrying someone else’s weapon,

rise and reach into yourself, you know you can.

Let the flashing blades of all your cruel words

rust to dust, all triggers jam, all arms fail;

there are many other things, far, far worse

than a loss of will for violence to prevail.

The planet is your country; you do not want

to create another random battlefront.