Land Speaks At Agincourt

A poem I entered into the Poetry Society’s Agincourt 600 competition, which was a runner up in the Secondary Category.

If you would like to see the poem on the Poetry Society website, here is the link:



I am drunk on blood and bones.

Northern France, the honest mud

Printed with confusion in

fields of cold October. My

quagmire only sees conflict.


For earth, it is laughable

To consider being owned.

My age understands the tears-

Warfare is my language, but

Allegiances bore me now


Arrows are always sweetest

Cracking through scarred, soldiered flesh

With the smooth skill of frostbite.

Remembered wounds. Outnumbered

Armies are the best to watch.


This one I like the most now.

Out of it all- so far. Though

It is never honourable:

Fought with cracked hands, battered boots

Dirt never expects manners


They will all remember this.

If I could reach out beyond

The dark trappings of your feet,

I would speak- to tell you that:

“Agincourt will be sewn in


songs, wrapped in words, and recalled

As a bowman’s victory.”