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after the bugle fades
Folder:
2026
"ANZAC 2026"
A faint drift of camp‑smoke moves across the oval
as neighbours gather in a loose ring,
boots scuffing dew‑dark grass.
Someone reads from an old diary,
paper soft at the folds,
its words settle over us
like a weather front passing slow across the range.
The march is smaller this year,
but each step lands with its own weight.
Kids lean from verandas with cardboard poppies,
a brass line warms the air near the cenotaph,
and the crowd parts gently
so, an older man can steady himself
before placing a wreath cut fresh from his yard.
By afternoon the town thins back into its rhythms—
shops half‑open, dogs restless at the fence.
A few of us stay near the memorial garden,
letting the day breathe out around us,
aware of how these gatherings
shape the way we carry our shared work forward
long after the bugle has faded.
.
Intense and stirring, the way
Intense and stirring, the way you captured the poignant aftermath of emotions following the significant event.
Less talented writers would focus on the memorial itself, which would certainly have been compelling, but the soft, picturesque and significant landing you created, when the town returned to its rhythms, calmer, yet deeply touched and united by a lingering sense of reverence, gave the memorial the importance it deserved.
Stunning use of atmospheric detail and evocative eloquence.
You're the real deal. Bravo, maestro!
Thank you patriciajj. It's an
Thank you patriciajj. It's an ongoing journey, this particular one an exercise in slowing down enough to actually smell the roses, the destination is given yet therr is so much to discover whilst en route
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
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