Game of numbers

National War Memorial, Canberra

Bloody-red poppies,
power; it’s painful remains—
statistical loss.

And they fall

Spring in Canberra

As war mother’s tears
shedding, scattering plenty,
yet prettier, spring.

Uncorked

a soldier, a wine

barrel-full of tales

one shovel at a time

one glass

All’s well

Deafening thunder
shell storms asunder
cowers soldier

a night’s shelter
shatters the next
graveyard in its wake

all’s well, mama
in scrawny writing
announces the letter

flickering solace
for pining mother
a world away