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I was training journalists on how to work in war zones when a Spitfire flew overhead. I can't help but be moved by these planes.

My mother lived through the London Blitz, but it had a profound effect on her.


Screen_shot_2017-12-05_at_08.50.24by Patrick Howse18 Apr 2015

A buzzard, belonging, circles
sun in blue heaven,
covering comfortable green
white with blossom.

Sudden merlin thunder,
loud enough to shatter time,
roars from harsh history
to gentle warm horizon.

My dazzled eyes see more
than beautiful tapered wings
and young men's sacrifice,
distinguishing dying embers

of childhoods burned in buildings,
or frozen by winters
endured in houses without windows,
and cold dark fears forever

dragged through long lives;
I recognise the survivors' loss.
I know what war means,
I think.

Yet still I feel the thrill,
seduced by a glorious marvel
once again tearing
Kent's spring sky.