War
War
The rains stop.
The flowers wilt.
The winds blow.
The leaves fall.
The bones grow
cold in the ground.
No-one is satisfied.
.
.
.
© RH Peat 1/30/2012 4:22pm
form: sestet/ 5 lines
Metaphor: death.
Munia Khan
Spine shivering work Ron.So much said between the lines.You are the master of all masters I repeat.
Spine shivering work Ron.So much said between the lines.You are the master of all masters I repeat.
Sylvia Frances Chan
Indeed, Sir! The bones are growing everywhere cold in the ground...Very true!
Indeed, Sir! The bones are growing everywhere cold in the ground...Very true!
Sandra Martyres
That's exactly where war takes us...great poem Ron...if only the war-mongers would understand these sad facts....
That's exactly where war takes us...great poem Ron...if only the war-mongers would understand these sad facts....
allenpaulson
Love this. When will we learn?
Love this. When will we learn?
Yacov Mitchenko
Good. It recalls one of Basho's better known haikus: Asleep within the grave The soldiers dream, and overhead The summer grasses wave. Translated by William Porter Here's another poem on war worth reading: Ruins: The Capital of Yueh Kouh Chien returned here, triumphant. He had destroyed Yueh's always enemy, the state of Wu. Loyal warriors streamed home, armor all draped in Wu brocades And court ladies waited, thronging, all the flowers of spring. Now all: a covey of partridges, flushed, fly into the twilight. Li Po (translated by J.P. Seaton)
Good. It recalls one of Basho's better known haikus: Asleep within the grave The soldiers dream, and overhead The summer grasses wave. Translated by William Porter Here's another poem on war worth reading: Ruins: The Capital of Yueh Kouh Chien returned here, triumphant. He had destroyed Yueh's always enemy, the state of Wu. Loyal warriors streamed home, armor all draped in Wu brocades And court ladies waited, thronging, all the flowers of spring. Now all: a covey of partridges, flushed, fly into the twilight. Li Po (translated by J.P. Seaton)
this reminds me of President Lincoln's favorite poem by Knox ---- "Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?" ... nice write, sir ronald!