Grey wisps of hair cross his head

and meet under the brim of firm

material and assurance. He has sprouted,

a lonesome poppy in the blusters

of transitory time from Fall to Winter,

outside a new realm of conflict.

He nods to them with a glistening smile

of decaying teeth, leaving reddened gums

bleeding a quaint charity. Charity remains

a scarce resource on the battlefield, whilst

men and women and...

The ground I walk on seems to always crumble and squelch with every begrudged step. Tufts of grass appear as if artefacts of fields past, their dancing in the wind reminds me of those children’s parties and school sports days. This enclosure - levelled and measured in recent years - seems an echo of life before.

Life still trudges onwards. Cacophonous squeals and piercing shouts and firm tapping ...