Tag Archives: war

Two Journeys

guy 2
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

He came home today,
her beautiful boy
with his beautiful scar,
his chipped tooth
and his battered faith,
the price of defending another.
 

Invincibility,
once worn like a badge,
now quietly stitched
to the inside of his shirt,
a tight kernel of regret
chafing at his chest.
 

And she,
though saddened
by the livid weal beneath his eye,
thankful that he returned
in the rattle and hum
of a crowded carriage,
 

cocooned
in the drum thud
of his white budded world,
not draped in wood
under the misplaced blood
of a forlorn flag.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

laissez-faire lullaby


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

~ Artwork by the Syrian poet Adonis. The text is an assemblage of pre-Islamic writings which speak of peace and against oppression.
 
 

The road to Damascus is littered with arms;
dealers dodge bullet points in NY,
better suited than mooted –
 

Monger’s wage war on
BanKi’s floor,
 

Martini motherfuckers,
mouth-washed knuckledusters
packing Tommy’s hardware in MDF –
 

guns out, bodies in;
Reaper’s recycling.
 

Beneath Hom’s rubble-strewn streets
incubators blink as infants slip
down humanity’s sink.
 

Lights.
 

Out.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

A simple case of geometry

Columbus’s work in vain
as we circumvent the truth
and choose to fight in all four.

Romanticised scenes of Florence
and her lamp-lit ladies
turning starched cotton
in the rain-sodden Somme.

Apathy sprawls on modular furniture,
watching obscene flat-screens,
as they fold right-angled,
star-spangled flags;
God Save the Queen.

The same sad-fingered,
dog-eared telegrams,
seeking solace against
two adjacent edges
of a dusty drawer,
decade after decade.

The choice:
to remain in the dimly-lit
ninety degree spaces
we’ve backed ourselves into
or wade through the brackish gloom
and turn a kindled corner.

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Filed under Free Verse

Supplication

Pray to our gods that our children will shun
malignant malaise, militia’s cold might,
old shoulders aiming democracy’s gun.
 

Spider-climb lies that their leaders have spun;
pallid untruths that proclaim to unite.
Pray to our gods that our children will shun
 

slick manifestos, oiled speech over-run,
warmonger prophets that aim to incite,
old shoulders aiming democracy’s gun
 

warning our youth there’s a war to be won,
crimson ink spilt and the wrongs splintered right.
Pray to our gods that our children will shun
 

promised land, seeing the damage that’s done;
bleak arid wasteland devoid of all light,
old shoulders aiming democracy’s gun,
 

blood husks in trenches, bleached bones in the sun,
carcasses licked clean by bellicose blight.
Pray to our gods that our children will shun;
cold-shoulder weight of democracy’s gun.
 
 

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Filed under Villanelle

Embattled

So many fallen before us;
battle fatigued and ill-equipped
to face the enemy,


yet still we rise to fight,
after a sleepless night weighed down
by the mud and the shit and the stench of death

to eke out what is left of our meagre rations,
for tomorrow we march on empty stomachs.

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Filed under Free Verse, Uncategorized

November


            
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

My child lay down in fields of red,
His heart still full of boyhood dreams,
While fireworks raged above his head.
 

Into the night the colours bled
Stitched up the sky with rainbow seams,
My child lay down in fields of red.
 

Bright eyed wonder replaced the dread
And childhood giggles stifled screams,
While fireworks raged above his head.
 

Frightened eyes stained by tears shed,
Glowed brightly then with blist’ring beams,
My child lay down in fields of red.
 

So fear amongst the heavens fled,
Relief into his body streamed
While fireworks raged above his head.
 

Kaleidoscopic final bed,
Once fearless youthful soul redeemed,
My child lay down in fields of red.
While fireworks raged above his head.

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Filed under Villanelle