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December 3, 2004
Iraqi Bloom
In desert sands
A fragile flower
Survives
While up above
Mad demons toy
With lives
The man kneels down
Beside the bloom
To pray
Reminded of
His garden
Far away
A place of peace
For which he'd risk
His life
He sees them wave:
His children and
His wife
He spoke to them
In words that
Must be said
The awful truth
'I shot a man
He's dead'
The sniper spits:
'Invader!
Infidel!'
He fires to send
The kneeling man
To hell
The bullet hits
Explodes inside
His head
His final sight
A blossom
Splashed with red
(c) Alan Smith 2002, first appeared
in Volition No 3, Melbourne 2002
Posted by alan at December 3, 2004 8:40 PM
Comments
poem one,
gripping, wrenching;
I've gone through the loss of friends
and young students beginning with
WWII, 1945.
This time it all seems worsej
partly because weapons the kids
handle are worse, and partly because
we are the aggressors. Thanks, Aussies,
for being with us, for better or worse.
I like the form you are using; some of
the power of the poem is the constrast
of meter befitting a flower poem
and the killing content.
Posted by: oldBob at December 5, 2004 6:53 AM
alan
This is the second poem of yours that I've read. Another pithy and powerful statement. Deeply touching.
Thank you.
Kathleen
Posted by: Kathleen at December 26, 2004 9:26 PM