If poppies grew uncontrolled
and choking not on wasteland
but on the walls, doors, machinery
of armaments factories;
not in a fake haemorrhage
around historic buildings
but on the benches of parliaments;
if they crowded into disuse such places
where wars are dreamt and manufactured,
then there would be no need
to stand up straight,
pin scarlet paper on our chests,
listen to politicians sermonise
- then watch those
same swift hypocrites forget.
I'm Marc Woodward, live in rural Devon and have been published in a number of magazines and websites including The Poetry Society website, The Guardian site, Ink Sweat and Tears, The Broadsheet, Forward Press, Otter etc. My blog: http://marcwoodwardpoetry.