November pierces with its bleak remembrance
Of all the bitterness and waste of war.
Our silence tries but fails to make a semblance
Of that lost peace they thought worth fighting for.
Our silence seeths instead with wraiths and whispers,
And all the restless rumour of new wars,
The shells are singing as we sing our vespers,
No moment is unscarred, there is no pause,
In every instant bloodied innocence
Falls to the weary earth ,and whilst we stand
Quiescence ends again in acquiescence,
And Abel’s blood still cries in every land
One silence only might redeem that blood
Only the silence of a dying God.

Malcolm Guite:  Sounding the Seasons

(image from telegraph.co.uk)



  1. What a powerful, although also poignant and sad poem, when I wonder will war ever cease, I have a feeling it won’t. When I see the poppies there it looks like a river of blood, which is it of course, and each representing a life cut short…..it is all so awfully heartbreaking.xxx


  2. A powerful poem Gilly. I think line 2 is the one that stands out to me.
    And a great image. I saw the poppies a few weeks ago. I think they have made a strong impression on many people.


  3. A beautiful poem. We can only trust to our ability to change things by stating the truth and hoping to persuade those in power that every human being is of value irrespective of race, creed, gender, wealth or poverty. Its not an easy road, there is so much propaganda stressing our differences. 🙂


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