November poem

A few lines that I penned many years ago when I was trying to convince myself that I could be a poet


Speed through the flat fields

Run as the young blood

Pierce as a bullet, through November mist.

Iron-on-iron cross smooth

Past canal flood and farm

Through the flat fields in half dreamy bliss.


Stand on the deck

In an uneasy stupour,

Last look at home lights shine on the small sea,

Crossing the void

Returning to arms

That thrill and excite wrapping around me

The darkness envelops,

Night falls again,

A victim to sweet seduction and then

Those who have loved

Too hard, too quick

Cry in their holes, in death heaped thick,

One slow-rotting rat-bitten corpse on another.

« Your son was a hero. He really did love her. »


Speed through the flat fields,

Run as the young blood

November night rolls away into dawn.

On through the grey light

Drunk with fatigue

Iron-on-iron cross makes my heart bleed.