Continuing in the series of Autumn scribblings – November – a poem on crossing a bleak land of former war in search of love.
NOVEMBER
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.