Dragon on vert
poppy resonance dancing
Tuesday shimmering, bleeding
blood-high on grass smoking
in Cambrian mountains
or Vietnam
through Afghanistan’s
fields’ perfumery
stains on reverse strata
of Snowdon’s peak, or Cambodia
covered in skulls
stacked dens of white hopium
masquerading as lines of snow
conquerors’ castles
morsels of stone
demolishing molars
of the starving
in unbearable agony
— Boudica still scowling, raging,
deafening blue woad on faces
bearing banners
golden torque cast
crushed under studded caligae
mass burials’ deep turf
dredging bone from mud
Sixties’ grass, love child
in fifty shades
acid ancestors calling
thudding on our spine “wake up!”
their history burned —
your future denied
Stand firm in dissolution
on Sunday’s black evening
Copyright Francis Barker 2020
Ciscography 
Oh you remind me of all those wars.. I think often our bread grows from battlefield corpse soil
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Powerful!
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this is like a psychedelic trip! I’m not sure about the diagnosis but what a great read
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As Sting sings, “death’s bitter trade,” morphing and told in technicolor. Captivating poem.
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Ha thank you 🙏🏻
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Yes, thank you 🙏🏻
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You are welcome.
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This is such a fascinating weaving of war history with that of mind-altering substances: unique and clever, I really enjoyed this psychotropic ride!
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Thank you 🙏🏻 it’s been a weird trip 🤪
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Nice buzz, Francis. Well done. Loved those morsels of stone.
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This is such a wild dance, like taking drugs & getting drunk!!! I am tripping in the clouds, smiles!
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This is deeply poignant! You portray the harsh realities attached with war so eloquently .. with colour as your armor. Especially touched by; “Boudica still scowling, raging, deafening blue woad on faces bearing banners golden torque cast.”
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Red poppies and black Sunday evening. Great use of color!
dwight
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thank you
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thank you!
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thank you!
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thank you!
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A psychedelic trip among the killing fields, Francis, that is both stimulating and made me devastatingly sad. I love the way you’ve threaded the colours with the places. I was drawn to the lines:
‘…Boudica still scowling, raging,
deafening blue woad on faces’
a Norfolk heroine.
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Thank you, yes she was, quite a lady!
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This vast canvas is blood and bones beneath the earth to me, ancient battled reduced to mud and the poppy carpet both symbolic of war dead the opium wars and the darkness of Afghanistan. Wild colours, psychedelic and good old woad.
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Thank you Jane, I went off on one but with November 11 coming up I always get morose thinking about the sheer waste and evil wanton slaughter.
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You took us through it nicely, and I especially liked the antique connections.
It’s a time of year when to forget is criminal.
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Wow. A kaleidoscopic paint by number cautionary tale of violent histories. Wake up! Yes.
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A phantasmagoria of colors, shades, images and rising out of it all dissolution, death, hallucination. Marvelously done, Francis.
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Where are those visions now? (K)
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It reads quick like a film speeded up, almost a blur but then the images remain on my eyes and mind like slow motion… well done!
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I think I’m a little high from this poem!! I liked this line – acid ancestors calling thudding on our spine “wake up!”
Some good storytelling with vivid imagery!
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Thank you, don’t know where it came from. Best wishes
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thank you so much!
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thank you!
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thank you so much!
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thank you!
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