The Society of Happy Poems by Antony Owen

I’ve an army of followers on twitter she said,
strange how all of them were poets not soldiers.
She asked me when I’d write something happy
people do not want to read invisible atrocities.

..
I’ve an army of followers on twitter she said
they sometimes fight over the golden perch,
and each tweet rips a feather from the wren,
the wren that sang in Ypres for followers of no man’s land.

..
An army of soldiers gave away candy to children,
they had nineteen followers shouting me, me, me.
One of the sweet wrappers was followed by Jihadis,
stories of war and wren song do not end happy.

..
Two years ago, I followed the stories of ancient children,
one of them collapsed at the plane that killed Hiroshima,
a film crew followed her and hung her privacy for all to see.
Her son rang from Tokyo, “now the whole world knows” he said.

..
I’ve an army of followers on twitter she said,
so Antony, when will you write a happy poem?
I replied when more poets follow the soldiers and
civilians who can’t be found in the places you look for art.

..
I’ve no army of followers on twitter and survive in concealment,
there is a posh ointment jar filthy with flies and a fingerprint maze.
in the artform of funding applications I re-read a war poem by Anon,
the ink has almost faded yet her world is never more vivid.

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