In the early dawn they gather
rank on rank; the bugle sounds
the old men with their medals
the families gathered round

but just beyond the shadows
out where darkness dims
where memories are whispering
the others gather in

they stand by their old comrades
in proud review they come
and ever on the morning chill
they hear the muffled drum

they come in from the battlefields
the beaches and the skies
from every place and every land
to where the loved flag flies

Haere mai, Haere mai…


© Maureen Sudlow

I think this has been posted by me before – but still the need to remember


I see you still
stooped, in your garden
as the night falls around you
but when I reach out
you are already leaving

what happens
when the heart has gone
from a garden
from the bee-buzzing sweetness
of the flowers

further than daylight
wheat fields stretch
to a darkening sky
a man and his dog
going home

this morning
I stood on the hill
as the sun rose
and a late Morepork
called your name


These things I hold sacred
the right of children to be fed
the right of a man to earn his bread
the right of the elderly
to sleep in the sun, without fear
the right of all life to be cherished

© Maureen Sudlow

sun rising


They were magical nights – when the power failed, and we relied again on the hearth, candles and the Tilley lantern. The sound of the kettle singing on the hob harmonised with the hissing of the lantern, and the odd snap as the coals flared. The edges of the dark became soft and friendly, and bright colours of fire fairies danced among the coals.

my mother
grew coal flowers
in a china dish
old carpet softness
under my knees


free image from Shutterstock