stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18407
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2017-10-10 14:29:56
    [post_date_gmt] => 2017-10-10 14:29:56
    [post_content] => I do swear that I will be faithful 

She holds my shoulders at arm’s length:
Polished boots, hot khaki and
She pins on a flower and tells me not
To forget. A flame red against my chest.

and bear true allegiance

I can’t seem to get warm. Cold metal
In my arms and ice in my gut.
Flame red. I should take it off
But I’m scared I’ll forget the colour.

to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II,

And war’s shouting at my ear
Daring me to hesitate.
So, I let the cold sink in its claws
And I don’t look back.

her heirs and successors, according to law.

He pretends that our friends
Aren’t lying a few yards away
That those are just shapes
In the soulless dark.

He makes a joke. We laugh on
Command and I look down to find
My flame lost to the war -
Dropped some place in the ruin.

So help me God.
    [post_title] => Flame Red
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => flame-red
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2017-10-10 14:29:56
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-10-10 14:29:56
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=18407
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2017
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is highly commended in the Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017 on Young Poets Network (YPN), judged by Wendy Cope, Fran Brearton, Llewela Selfridge, and Judith Palmer.

Judge Fran Brearton said of this poem:
"It achieves a poignant irony in its interspersing of an oath of allegiance with the terrifying experience of a young soldier in battle, holding a symbol of love, home, beauty, but losing it in  the 'ruin'."
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Highly commended, Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 18408
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Kutloogh	Qureshi
            [slug] => kutlooghqureshi
            [content] => Kutloogh is a highly commended poet in the Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017 on Young Poets Network.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18408
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Kutloogh	Qureshi
    [slug] => kutlooghqureshi
    [content] => Kutloogh is a highly commended poet in the Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017 on Young Poets Network.
)

Flame Red

Kutloogh Qureshi

I do swear that I will be faithful

She holds my shoulders at arm’s length:
Polished boots, hot khaki and
She pins on a flower and tells me not
To forget. A flame red against my chest.

and bear true allegiance

I can’t seem to get warm. Cold metal
In my arms and ice in my gut.
Flame red. I should take it off
But I’m scared I’ll forget the colour.

to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II,

And war’s shouting at my ear
Daring me to hesitate.
So, I let the cold sink in its claws
And I don’t look back.

her heirs and successors, according to law.

He pretends that our friends
Aren’t lying a few yards away
That those are just shapes
In the soulless dark.

He makes a joke. We laugh on
Command and I look down to find
My flame lost to the war –
Dropped some place in the ruin.

So help me God.