No Memorials For This Lot

A Row of Sunflowers in Late October by Tim Joyce

reading by Jeff Murray

Against the cold duck evening trees

in camouflage of pale leaves, scarlet flutter, bittersweet

parched they stand, vanquished in a ghostly platoon

as if in dumb allegiance to a lost order barked

in the bush of a sweltering jungle or the desert of a far off land

How recently they were golden-faced and young

now with heads lowered, slung toward the autumnal ground

whacked out and wasted, hollowed at the core

their green hearts, their butter-yellow tongues

their broken backs tell a sky in silence they are already gone

No memorials for this lot: nothing to do but wait

for further orders that will never come

they indicate the classical pose to go down dying

their bowed, ruined grandeur awaits the axe of frost

O yes, their dry leaves sigh, find grace too in what you’ve lost


No Memorials For This Lot
oil on canvas
81 x 12”

Tim Joyce. Stone Mad, Poems by Tim Joyce, Murphy’s Law Press, Lee, MA, 2009. P 36