Max thanks never heard of
felt 'lemon-squeezers',* very apt-was wondering what the shrine looked like
cheers P old and grumpy
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Max Richards
Sent: 16 July 2013 23:35
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: 'Remembrance'
Remembrance
Stepping northward
up St Kilda Road
towards the city
we come to the steep
rise of greensward
topped by the Shrine.
Up its granite steps
panting somewhat
we enter the dark
inner space of stone
where a practiced
badged veteran holds
young and old
with his spiel.
Were we here
any November
at eleven a.m.
on the eleventh
we'd see a slim
shaft of sunlight
strike through the stone
up there, fall here
below on this carved
square at our feet:
Greater Love
Hath no Man -
a beam of light
at his command
streams from above
slowly traversing
the words. The Last Post
from some taped cornet
resounds - that Anzac
Day slow music
fraught with old burdens
when you fear the young
bandsman will falter
or breathless faint.
Our guide has recited
'At the going down of the sun.'
Most heads are bowed.
Mine is full of lesser
'remembrance' - I see
sundown in camp south
of Auckland, conscripts,
eighteen-year-olds
pausing by the canteen,
in khaki uniform, green
felt 'lemon-squeezers',*
the flag being lowered,
end of a strenuous
outdoor day of drill
and acquiring of skills
useless in time of peace.
History hasn't shone on us.
The sun sets beyond low hills.
*boy-scout-ish hats
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