I have penned a little ditty for Rememberance Day. Just felt like it, thought I would share it. Im' a poet and I did not realise that (fcuk that could flow better for a start) Many nationalists/republicans have a problem with rememberance sunday. I don't get this, never did. I always tell them I wear a poppy for everyone and anyone who died, Irish, British, German, Polish, etc. My wee poem isn't a dig at them but it is about those who do not remember how we got to where we are as individuals, families and collectively as a country through the sacrafice of others. I realise this is the Naffi so do your worst Dirt under nail I am dirt under nail I am gravel, I am shale Churned by corrupt uncaring traffic Sneered at by the weak and tragic I stalk corridors elite, elect I surprise the circumspect The careful, guarded politic The urbane, oily, shiny chic The grins of spite, the empty eyes Dinner suits with black bow ties Wash blooded hands before they dine Nose the rich red bloody wine But in the corner of each hand A mark of Cain in earth or sand Defect dulls their perfect pallor Tale tattooed of gambled valour Confuse, forget, lavishly deny Staged regret, peppered public lie In their quiet midnight mind Young souls mark sleepless time Remember me for what I was Not dirt, nor grist, or chaff, not must Not war machine or number tallied Strength of arms or brave cheer rallied I am laughter still to be heard Tenderness no longer shared Potential, purpose, life unseen I am what I could have been And still, I breathe through others breath My heart holds time in many chests Our lives were more than greasy bets Banked by brokers derelict Eleventh day, eleventh hour Wear that blood red gaudy flower Lest they in power ever fail I am dirt, under nail.