Posts tagged ‘war’

20/06/2013

Jesenica – Aberdare – Iron – Coal – 1913

 

The garlands of narcissi shone,

Amongst the regiments of steel.

From orange dust, in which they coughed:

Came building’s load, and railroad.

 

Just like the metal there was coal,

Which clogged the lungs, and coated souls,

And saturated hems and hopes

Of every waiting valley girl.

 

And from the margins built the calls,

Along the tunnels, from the slag,

Around the coke and winding sheds:

They sung the gallows, whispered war.

 

The patterns of despair were set

Across a Europe drowned in sweat.

 

 

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09/06/2013

The Dance and the Dancers Both

 

The dance begins at half past two.

They break us, bend us, lash us to

Their silhouettes and pirouettes,

Across the maps of fiefdoms formed.

 

On barricades and barbed-wire proms

They build themselves a wall of trees,

And there they prance their mountain dance

To rules set out by forest kings.

 

We cower beneath their dancing shoes,

Their ballroom, breath room, cold war gloom.

They chat, and rat-a-tat, and crack

Our tarantella minds with tap.

 

At three they leave us to our tears,

To empty moves in darkened rooms.

 

 

stream of words poem written in response to:

http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2013/06/09/prompt-7-nonsensemadness/

 

 

 

12/05/2013

The Barmanou

 

 

They shook the mountain caves at night,

They broke the boulders, cracked the cliffs,

They mocked the flags on sunrise snow,

They howled around the prayer wheels.

 

Then far beyond the mountain’s pull

A gentle chant, the plateaux’s thought,

Was caught in clouds and spiralled up

To join the Karakoram’s breath.

 

They stopped a while to hear the chant,

Put down their knives of Yengisar.

Then, furrow-browed, they went on back

To breaking wilderness and peace.

 

For all their noise, they heard the change:

They sensed the myths had rearranged.

 

03/02/2013

The Third Man

 

Between the lines of chaos left,

The shadows and the rubble piles,

The cats, the beggars and the old:

The ones whom death had overlooked.

 

He makes a simple killing there:

Chiaroscuro trades at night,

Around the Hofburg’s ruined walls,

Beneath St Stephen’s tarnished gold.

 

Sewer deep the devil rules.

An overspill of human loss,

From steppes and mountains, bombed out towns,

They cry to him through wounds of waste.

 

He’s there: a light to pry in graves.

He’s there, to light the caudite charge.

 

 

Response to the film “The Third Man”.