Poem written after visit to a First World War exhibition in Vienna, Austria.
on mounds of earth
blackened sticks stand
crossed
and aslant
the bones the sticks mark
are not
the bones
to be handed in
along with kettles
and pans
candlesticks
and lamps
doorbells
and plates
by widows
and children in dutiful queues
the bones
in the earth
are not the bones
for the making of soap
and candles
and glycerin
spodium and lime
or dung
they've given their bones
for the emperor's
war
today they are making
new shoes
out of straw
This is haunting, Gwil. You've done the bones proud.
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteLest we and/or they forget.
Yet still it goes on, and sadly ever will, fuelled by power, madness and greed
Thank you Shawn.