Tag Archives: war
gash
War pummels us both
as you,
my enemy,
become my friend.
Let the sweat of your brow
drip
salt in my wound;
the burden I share
with you.
by matt at shadow of iris
gash
on the high cliff
On the high cliff
stands the command
with a face so pure
and so serene
that only the loftiest thoughts
must fill that unwrinkled brow;
yet in those eyes
reflections of a tumult
from down below –
blood that floods the plain
and stains the heath,
warriors dying by the droves
over a strategy hatched
with a glass of sherry.
– matt at shadow of iris
on the high cliff
old memories
Old memories
of the capture
subsequent imprisonment
and torture
haunted him
for most his life
but he continued to insist
surrendering his ship
had saved lives
that otherwise
would have been lost.
– matt at shadow of iris
old memories
the smell of copper
The surgeon cuts the body
and steam rises
along with the smell of copper
in a damp cold tent
in the middle of a battle field
where icy rain falls
and the sound is filled
with sporadic gunfire
and occasional
explosions.
– matt at shadow of iris
the smell of copper
thick air
Moving through the tall grass,
the moisture thick
and your fatigues
sticking to you,
your helmet slack
and your body weary,
your gun
held loosely by your side
as the bullets begin to fly
past you.
– matt at shadow of iris
thick air
the earphones
She would take those earphones everywhere
and this was when they were still quite new
in the village
and not everyone understood exactly
what they were for.
Her father had given them to her
when she’d visited him in the city
along with a small cassette player
which she kept continuously strapped to her belt
and only removed
when it was time to wash
or to sleep.
She had only one cassette
to put into the player
some pop band
that sang only saccharine
and simple melodies
each one barely distinguishable
from the other.
Yet even when the batteries
ran down
and the war began
she’d still keep the earphones
over her ears
and the player strapped to her belt;
when she was nervous or scared
she would reach up
and touch the earphones
and think of her father.
When she was much older
she would tell everyone
that that was how she had made it
through the war.
– matt at shadow of iris
the-earphones
murmurs and shrapnel xx
In the town
at the edge of the barrens
rich goat herders
pay rotund town criers
to shout from their rooftops
the war has come
the war has come.
Four lazy angels
rest by the shore
and care nothing for the war;
two snuggle close
to a goat
with long horns
and black cloven feet
it bays
at the encroaching night;
the faces of these two angels
are like young children
playing hooky from school
or a man
who skips the vote;
the third angel
wades into the water
and glances coyly
at someone on the shore
while she playfully grabs
a long necked crane by the tail
and catlike yanks it down;
the fourth angel
with her feet wading into the sea water
hugs a rock
and nestles her head against
a resting owl
with mischievous eyes
she smiles knowingly
as it is she
who has beguiled the others
into their own desertions;
the long necked crane
now lies sprawled on its back
and to the surprise of the third angel
it jerks spasmodically
and begins to die –
as it looks up it sees
the last shimmering glimmers
of the fading sun
as they highlight
dark foreboding clouds
with a fading silver halo.
Permanent members
of the peace council
argue without cease
and issue communiques
full of nothing
but static
and murmurings.
I thought it was
a horseman’s pick
but on closer examination
I saw it was made of bone;
skulls and teeth
elongated and woven together
into a fabric spread across
a cubic surface
and sealed
with bolts and wire;
the contrite outsides
of a growing and gurgling
deviant machine
resting
at the heart of it all.
– matt at shadow of iris
[The second verse was inspired by a work of Esao Andrews.]
murmurs and shrapnel viii
What difference
does it make
to the dead
the orphans
and the homeless
whether the mad destruction
is wrought under the name
of totalitarianism
or the holy name of liberty
or democracy?
A hopeful time
as we celebrate
the end of one year.
A special envoy finds
mounting children deaths
victims of nighttime actions
yielding lethal outcomes.
The end of one year
the beginning of another
a difficult time for many
yet look back with the knowledge
that brighter days are ahead of us.
The military insists
the victims were armed militants
but initial investigations say
eight were enrolled in local schools.
The challenges are great
each of us has the courage
and determination
to rise up
and meet them.
An explosion in the city district
of bad Dad
wounded scores of children
and killed at least one
conflicting theories
about the explosion’s cause
leaves local security officials
suggesting an errant rocket.
In the spirt
that has kept the dream
alive for generations
that same spirit
will keep it alive
for even more generations.
One is left
with the horrible feeling
that war settles nothing
that to win a war
is as disastrous
as to lose one.
– matt at shadow of iris
[The first verse is a quote from Mahatma Gandhi, the last verse is a quote from Agatha Christie, the rest of the italics are from recent news altered slightly, and the bold is mostly the u.s. president's new year remarks, altered slightly.]
