In The Silo Shadow


It is the hundredth year of war.

Even though the war has been over for a hundred years

The world has been at war everyday of every year for the hundred years since.

And we remember the war to end all wars

The war that never ended any wars

The war that inexorably drew us into more wars

We remember the sacrifice

We remember those who laid down their lives so that we might be free

We say «they did not die in vain»

We say «never again»

But …

(On a road in eastern France, May 2018)

The day draws down

And The mid May sun

Sets lost horizons

As I drive roads

Running endless fields

Where the green wheat grows

Like the dead

Industrial yields

No hedge,

Lone tree

Dead turbine line

No dwelling

No spire

No human claim

Just she silo beyond

By  the railway track

Comes the clanking train

Lumbering in

Fills with grain

And the dead sleep on

As the train scrapes off

And the dead sleep on

In their lonely plots

Where they fell when they fell

When this place was hell

And now this is nowhere

But it’s somehwere to be

This cemetry

Frontline to turbine

Out of life

Out of time

At the going down of this sun

I wander the crosses

One by one

By brother

By father

By each setting son

By name

By age

By country

By faith

By no cause of death,



Blown to pieces

Rest in peace

In the silo shadow

Down by the tracks.

On the rolling road

To nowhere and back

The day draws down

To be continued …