Andrew Charles Forrest

The painter of the war

The painter of the war


The paint the artist used was blood

To cover up the pain they felt

Because when dried it looked like mud

Of the sodden trench where the soldiers knelt


The artist has a crowed they're showing

The gallery throng has come to swoon

At the kind lady ghost of Wilfred Owen

And the scarlet red of his crimson rooms


For blood the artist used their paint

To show the pain they covered up

Because they cried, they cried for saints

Or anyone, anything to interrupt


They cried and cried to make it stop

“Please don’t let me die where I’m sitting”

“Let me die at home, not here where I drop”

This is not sweet and fitting (dulce et decorum est)


  • dusk arising

    Humanity treated as cannon fodder and shot by their own for being human.
    A lesson in disgrace.

    Excellent powerful writing.

  • Goldfinch60

    Such a powerful write Andrew, so many lives lost for reasons they did not know.

    Very powerful picture as well.

  • Michael Edwards

    A strong searching write about the insanity of it all. Super work Andrew.

  • Neville

    what a wanton wasteful loss and worse.. the futility of it all captured here so well and for all eternity........ Neville

    • Andrew Charles Forrest

      Thank you Neville

      • Neville

        My pleasure entirely Andrew, tis often a real treat to read your posts... N

      • Fay Slimm.

        A read that reaches the heart and brings tears for the fallen - you verse the futility so well Andrew;

      • Suresh

        Your words painted the pain of past
        Stories when heard one feels aghast
        The cause then, still exists even now
        Try as we must, we don't know how

      To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.