The nurseryman
and then the government attacked
and fire leapt from roof to roof
and all the colours bled to black
for days the greatest rainstorm sluiced
the soot from stumps of home to stain
the soil I lost my wife to war
our girl to floods our boy to flames
I fled with only what I wore
I hid in fields in ditches nights
I named the rose I bred for each
repeatedly and hugged them tight
I walked in circles weeks then reached
this pebbled shore at Dungeness
awaiting boats to France or death
Phil Vernon lives in Kent. He started writing poetry again in 2012 after a twenty-year break. Whereas in the past his poems were mostly written in free verse, he now embraces more formal forms, and finds this means his words and ideas surprise him more often. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Other Poetry, Ink Sweat and Tears, Elbow Room, Gold Dust and Pennine Platform, and he was shortlisted and commended for the 2015 Ealing and 2016 Binsted Festival Prizes, and in the Out of Place poetry and music collaboration competition in 2016. Some of his poems are on his website: https://philvernon.net/poetry/.