Sunday, January 6, 2019

Today's poem by Donald Hall

An Airstrip in Essex, 1960

It is a lost road into the air.
It is a desert
among sugar beets.
The tiny wings 
of the Spitfires of nineteen forty-one
sink under mud in the Channel.

Near the road a brick pillbox
totters under a load of grass,
where Home Guards waited
in the white fogs of the invasion winter.

Good night, old ruined war.

In Poland the wind rides on a jagged wall.
Smoke rises from the stones; no, it is mist.

Donald Hall
The Selected Poems of Donald Hall, 2015  


  1. Replies
    1. It really is, isn't it? I'm currently watching Foyle's War and I am pretty immersed in those times.

  2. Very evocative poem! I see you're watching Foyle's War. LOVE that series!! And I have a huge smile on my face as I see your very familiar header is back. :)

    1. Thanks! It is a great series. I hadn't seen it since it was first on. I found the poem so very moving. And a little treat to find a picture of DH when he was young. He would have been 32 in 1960.


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