NOW OUR CHILDREN OF GOD
one more tear of blood rolls from pained eye
a slower slide seeping now but same wet as all have been
warm lagging drip ‘cross cheek to chin ‘fore falling
to now well stained soil such brilliant red never drying
another stripe another star of liberty bound for dust
how many tears have fallen day by week by year
i’ve lost count while pool rises too deep to measure
how many more small footprints will wade through growth
having lost more than fathomed in sands beneath all feet
how many more hands eyes must reach through dreams to find
frame and glassed gifts of sons and daughters
spouses armed to fight the sheets
who pays for our atrocities but us all told God guides our goal
who pays for theirs but themselves and their masked selfish sons
folded flags for folding chairs holding frozen fathers mothers with druthers
weeping widows and heirs of lost inheritance
the list grows on and bloody tears keep caked my face
i leave them there like bad tattoos
why wash and dry what i cannot lose
but rare when on these streets i stroll
some share these streaks what red runs show
infidels imperialists left right any middle
one for oil and oil for one
rwc…
9/17/07
Although, like all your work
Although, like all your work so far this is well written it does feel a tad wordy to me, just my feeling.
Great ending.
atrocoties (sic)
cheers,
Jess
thanks for the note on spelling -
J,
man i missed that. my wife tells me alla time, you can’t edit yourself.
usually i’m a real good speller. easy since i was good in school (???) and spent my career of 33 years reading.
thanks for the wordy part.
yes, wordy.
meant to be.
got a lot to say.
have experimented in all forms of poem writing except haikus and sonnets.
wordy. hmmm. yes, my shit should be heard. next breath sometimes takes the place of commas or a pause.
also in this piece, i’m tired of this war bushmongering crap. same as vietnam almost. tho’ now americans are losing our sons instead of our brothers.
remember whitman said, “i am large, i contain multitudes.”
poetry is about sound and reduction of course to me and there are many out there who are actually writing prose poetry rather than poetry. reduction meaning saying as much as possible in as few words as possible. listen to my words rather than read. since you’re on the other side of the world it don’t make no difference which direction i holler toward does it? hear. like i heard that poem i read last night by Mej something - an indian maybe. helluva good poem.
word ruby in it. and ancient one speaking to a young man a minute by a fire. maybe called “the artist speaks.” have memory loss at times - hunching you may have gathered that?
I read it out loud, recorded
I read it out loud, recorded and played back … and you’re right you can hear if you listen.
I love your final line - I fell apart laughing.
Merry Christmas & Happy New Year
Nadolig llawen & blwyddyn newydd dda
geseënde Kersfees & gelukkige nuwejaar
Mike