04 March 2015

Cannon Fodder

Bullets and bludgeons
Spears and shrapnel,
Tempered metal blades –
All manner of mortality await,

But not yet.
Hold your position.

The reward for your obedience
Will be blood and pain,
Bodies at your feet,
The smell of burnt hope and charred machines.

Stand ready.
You’re next.


Posted at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform: Stay Weird Edition. I don't think the poem is particularly weird, but my inspiration was a Primus song, so... I was thinking of the possible futile persistence expressed in the song.
Also, this happens to be the first poem i have posted in almost a year. Shame on me!

Primus, Over the Falls


7 comments:

  1. A powerful anti war poem. Shout it!

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  2. Hey, welcome back! Great expression of the futility of war, the inevitability of loss no matter whose side you're on.

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  3. I feel this poem: "the smell of burnt hope". Perfect! Visceral.

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  4. War, there are no winners. Your piece so aptly speaks of that sad truth..

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  5. Eek, the moment before the start-fire. I can smell the sweaty anticipation in this one.

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  6. Very visceral. Expertly done.
    Anna :o]

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  7. Very visceral. Expertly done.
    Anna :o]

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