A poem by Morelle Smith, in our regular poetry slot from Dove Tales, a registered charity which uses the arts to campaign for peace and against the increasing militarisation of our society.

I

The gardener has cut the grass around a pine tree
and set up tables, benches.
This invitation is swept clean by the same wind
that sways the pine tree branches.
The breathing of the wind is the only sound.
There was a rooster call this morning.
And later, crows and piping birds.
Even the wind it seems, is waiting.

Beyond the village, there are two hills.
The first is a flat glade,
beckoning in sunlight and tree shade.
The second has a cluster of old stones, moss covered,
some enclosed in rusty ironwork, marking places
with no names or dates. This hilltop plateau dares you
to step closer. The ground is covered with wild violets.

II                                                                                    

In evening light, the sculpted stones are beacons,
landmarks, to signal that the territory
has been studied and arranged, carved, cajoled and polished.
A new map is created.
The dried stalks of last year’s foliage crunch underfoot.
Other pieces of the past, like the steps up
to the old manor house,
have crumbled – slate, bricks, and the broken branches
of trees crushed by the storms.
And the broken bodies of the soldiers
from the military hospital, crushed by the war,
they’re here as well.

The sculptor digs and pulls the images out of the stones
sets them in the earth, as landmarks, beacons,
of this consecrated ground.

III

The question of king or queen is never sated.
One game leads – after surrender – to another.

There is one – the cartographer – who pinpoints the spot on maps
where, at 57 North and 22 degrees East, the war ends in 1945.
But there are many who cannot go home,
and they are left behind.

Here is another – who attends to graves and granite.
Plants flowers. Sees how the unmolested moles
throw up their mounds of earth around the site,
feels rumours underfoot,
treads carefully among the mole house thresholds
and doorways leading underground.

Dove Tales is a registered charity which uses the arts to campaign for peace and against the increasing militarisation of our society. They are always looking for contributions to their blog and online projects. To submit poems, stories, music or artwork email Jean Rafferty (fireopal.jeanrafferty@outlook.com).