Poetry: Anthony Wade

Anthony Wade
Ghosts Of A Normandy Beach

In the greying light
of a departing night
they lay almost submerged,
small waves breaking
across their darkened skin,
a pod of whales in a line
across the bay
as though enclosing
the ghosts freed
by the armada’s
cacophonous assault
upon the enslaved coast
that other June morning
when opposing men
fought and died
and sand-pitted shadows
stretched and shortened
in the red of a dawning sun,
their voices still sounding,
faintly.
***


Swim With Care

History unfailingly flows
along the bed of the present
into the depths of Time,
ever the same, always different,
and those who fail to respect
the time of the river
they must swim in
may be swept under,
lost in its turbulence,
and be
forgotten,
or dismissed,
even despised.
***


The Virtuous Path

It is a truth seldom acknowledged
that triumphant truths
may prove as insubstantial
as a morning's sharp footprints
when washed by the upsurging tide,
for the firm path
virtuously trod today
across despised,
contaminated land
may, when turned,
teem with silent life
recoiling in shock.
***

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