war

I have had a week off work this week, so maybe a little catching up is in order. This is a follow on - Part 2 of the drinking and writing experiment! ;)

Blame

War came to tea but
no one noticed.
Offered a table of Eden,
War gorged
Spat venom,
Farted rotted meat
Ate an armies fill and
They smiled
Said how nice the weather was.
Enraged War torn at the walls,
the sheepskin rugs,
smashed the gold leafed jugs,
set a fire in the kitchen and
They smiled
recalled their holiday in Paris.
War defecated in the porch,
gave a single finger salute,
rode into the night and
in the smoke, the growl of the fire
They stood
Tried to kill each other.

I am not against war. Sometimes whether we want it or not, war must be undertaken. However, I am against politicians and their bad decisions when it comes to deciding to go to war or to send off troops for token good causes.

The inspiration for the following comes from a number of things, the rising death toll of the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, the black and white pictures of contorted corpses from World War 1 and World War 2 and photos from an article of a pregnant American woman standing vigil with marines over the coffin of her dead husband.

In days gone English Kings went to war and stood on the field. It is about time our policitans and Prime Minister showed they to are prepared to put their own life in the balance on the front line for the cause they are so keen to blabber with indifference.

Wildred Owen wrote a poem called Insensibly as well as explaining the mentality of men who had spent a lot of time in the trenches in a letter to his mother.

If you look at the old World War One pictures you will see soldiers smiling, laughing and you could be mistaken that the front lines had there "happy" moments in breaks between the battles.

The following poem is inspired by what Owen wrote.

Wilfred Owen's poem Dulce Et Decourm Est stuck with me from the moment I read it. Although it has it's technicalities it does not distract from the connect ability Wilfred undoubtedly wanted to achieve and the picture he wanted to paint in words.

Wondering what to type at lunchtime, I thought I would doodle on the image (or some of them) that Wilfred give me from reading Dulce Et Decourm, although I haven't re-read it prior to the doodle.

I read a website of someone I know last night, which mentioned they had taken an overdose at somepoint in the past although there was no explict details into the reason why but I have a good idea.

It wasn't something I commented on or indeed judge. In my past a girlfriend took an overdose when I was sixteen but never suceeded. I have heard from friends who have lost someone who has suceeded. I learnt at an early age, life is far from perfect and there is a darker element to life we shield ourselves from and others. An undercurrent.

We like to think everyone is living happy or on a level of what we see as normailty and when it fails we like to think we are unaffected at arms length or are dismissive and crictial. When you spend time to understand people, their reasons, fears and dreams, you find the real people beneath the mask; sins and all.

The following is inspired by those I have met and their tours of their demons.

Some arts we learn, empower us but not always for the best. I know this only too well.

The Substitute Teacher

Cupid got pregnant, took a break from class
decided never to come back.

War filled the desk, a mass of brute force
with a horse black as hell itself.

Forging lessons of eye and steel,
how to rake wounds in flesh

War’s lessons were fresh with blood
and Cupid’s, an Achilles Heel.

This is a play using characters and is written really for person reasons. If you like, a very short insight into my life story.

You get older, wiser and calmer as time goes by but that isn't to say your a push over. From this, I got a gun cabinet and then the following poem.

The Gun Cabinet

One legged pointers stand, snout to the air,
Coats gleamed by the master’s hand.
Idle now, they know their place,
Not to stray from beneath the chain.
The box imprisons their piercing bark,
locks the hunger for brass biscuits.
Yet, still faithful they stay
For every dog has more than just one day