Tag Archives: Sunset

The Somme Sunset

Sun swollen
reddening as it sank
that brutal bloody disc
scored by church steeples
and chimney stacks
almost lost in the drifting haze
of sulphurous yellow
and char-black smoke.

Duck boards dip
into the sodden earth
as men tramp along in conga lines
holding tight the pack of the man
in front, lest they should slip
lose quick their footing
be sucked down and smothered
by mud.

The walls of the tunnels
are packed earth
rich with blood and bone
bits and pieces of human
anatomy dangle and hang
as if posed by an artist
with a strange and cruel eye
for detail.

The scrabble for fox holes
and rough scraped ditches,
anywhere, below the line of fire.
The ting and whiz-bang
of a night of action
The whistle, the dash
and the forward push
counted more in men
than metres.

© M.L.Emmett

Featured image



Filed under Poem, Sunset, War


Mildew flowers are blooming
on the ceiling
sugar ants sashay across the floor
the walls are stretching
and drawing apart.

If you lean hard against the door frame
on a quiet night
after a summer shower
you’ll hear the munching, crunching jaws
of white ants feasting.

The gutterings are choked with gum
leaves sticky eucalyptus oil.

Cockroaches come in under the door
to skitter and dance
on the kitchen floor.

Corners of the rooms are draped
with dense and dusty webs that thrill
with steady pulse and scrape
of the fan.

Huntsmen and Daddy Long Legs
divvy up the territory
as they shelter from the rain.

Roots from the Lilly Pilly and the gums
the Birches and the Bay
criss-cross their underground networks
regularly disrupting pipes
that must be churned and scoured
by plumbers
on Sundays.

At sunset,
when the garden is sighing from the day
quiet and still




brown snakes come out of the ivy wall
to loll in the shade
sprayed ever-so lightly
by the spinning hose.

water on grass


Filed under Poem

Lake Shore Art

Silver Birches cold scene

 Silver birches line the lake
bone-pale before the evergreens
shoreline a rip rap
of gnarled and twisted stumps
weathered grey – the windfall waste
of trees already sawed and burned
in winters past.

Faint melon light of sunset
refracted in the rain
of dusk and the lake’s
darkening glass.

Henley Thames images






First published in THE MOZZIE Volume 16, Issue 2, April 2008


Filed under Peace, Poem