A LAWN UPON WHICH TO PLAY CROQUET

croquet

as of just a few deep purple night skies previous

those who were content to be the silent ones

predisposed to obey the curfew’s insolent bell

proffering an immaterial no-nonsense code

had died without a whisper

even the others, those who coughed and snored

plus, as was to be expected, the anarchists and fools

had vaporized in an instant

disobedience often comes at a high price

only the heartless wind from the east toughed it out

still rattled ‘kissed goodbye’ shutters

still blew hither and thither the peripheral debris

the presently adrift cafes had aborted

come closing time that day

the mother of all craters was contrived

a dazzling missile from the sky? likely enough

whether delivered by friend, born of error or calculating foe

the answer mattered not a jot

to the only mortal left living

her scepticism revealed in her ‘please help’ prayer to self

before the happening

her dancing eyes and captivating disposition

ensured any man was hers at the click of the fingers

not now though, in ‘the now’ a yearning for just necessities

a hairbrush, clothes that were not shredded, toothpaste

a lawn upon which to play croquet, her much treasured beret

another human being to talk with

not a lot to ask

yet in the circumstances

likely too much

“What is love if not the eternal juvenile’s juvenile flame?” she was unaware of her talking to herself adding, “The brutality of love counts for everything, choices and infusions, everything. Why, why am I here still…how can that be?”

she gaped into the abyss where once was a township

her quiet remembrance interrupted

about faced

both saw and heard

in the near distance

under a mind-blowing shaft of whitest light

the Cheshire cat grinning

smartest uniformed young soldier boy

a fiddle mounted twixt crevasse of jaw and shoulder

singing his gentle anthem as sweet ballad

 

“Sing us a song of love and hope

Sing one of war and peace

Sing us a song of destiny

Only then will this nightmare cease”

 

as more than a little anxiety vanished

superseded by safety’s warm glow

an unkempt gal of crushed aspirations

joined in the chorus of ascendancy

one that those dead and gone

would never know of

 

 

 

 

 

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36 thoughts on “A LAWN UPON WHICH TO PLAY CROQUET

  1. There is a very simple power to this Mike… maybe driven home by the choice of that single full line you selected for a title. As always a thoroughly enjoyable read. Happy Sunday.

      1. Nov. 11th. is Veterans Day here in the States. It does appear ignorance and bigotry is alive and well and no longer dormant, crawled from the woodwork completely oblivious to or worse encouraging history to repeat itself. We are holding our breath here, as Obama says “don’t boo, vote!”.

      2. Sadly the far right wing (for they are the ignorant bigots) is alive and well in these parts also. The ‘Brexit’ vote in this silly little island I live on was only made possible by the number of closet racists, in-denial racists and outright racists. I despair for the plight of reasonable, compassionate folk everywhere.

      3. I agree Mike, the basket of deplorables has jumped on the bandwagon of fear, hatred and bigotry. I’ve never seen such reckless and ruthless behaviour. It is sickening.

      1. Funny old world when one forgets what one wrote in yesterdays thread, then reads this morning, ‘mine often turn black…’ Following a swift double take I’m on the same page now!

  2. I love this balance. A bit behind, I’m afraid, and you’ve already been complimented on the unnerving imagery you described here, but I just wanted to say how brilliant the juxtaposition is here. Wicked, Friend, truly wicked.

    1. A stab at Remembrance. You are correct, one way or another ‘we have all been affected by this avalanche’ and still the lessons of history go unheeded! A nuisance really, when it would be so much easier and much more fun to take the polar opposite route in life.

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