Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

Ted Harriott

print this page

Raindrops

Raindrops slant down on the wind,
Diamonds against the dark baize sky,
But there is no glory in their glitter.
They are doomed to bounce but once
On the brown continuous puddle of the land,
Already sullied before absorption in the mud.

All history tells of English heroes displaying
Diamond bright courage in swamps,
Familiar territory for such warriors.
Hereward scampered across the sodden Fens
To bring fear to their tyrannical warlords;
Marlborough's men in their new Dutch boots
Stamped more French invaders into the mud of Belgium;

And in yet another century those same mires
Were ploughed by shells and fertilised by blood
So that they could grow the sad crop
Of poppies and dead dreams,
Wreaths for this funeral of civilisation.

We English, we weather people,
Should have known better than
To do battle in November.
November is the time for grieving,
As another year slithers towards its death.
It is the month of mud
And dark mourning at lunchtime

As hope's bright raindrops are swallowed
By the slime of the earth.

Page(s) 32

Back to top