Haiku: The Bombardier

IMG_1303

Doing your duty
Negated conscience see all –
where the night bombs fell

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019

 

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Haiku: The Rear Gunner

army burial cemetery cross

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Trapped in a tail spin
shot up and bleeding, no hope
What went through your mind?

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019

Poem: Terrorform

brown and black crater

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

From the first day let us start to terraform Mars,
make oceans from melting ice caps

and rivers run red through the rusty soil.
Day two let’s release plankton into the sea,

let out vast shoals of fish to feed on them
and steely predators to feast on the fish.

Day three we’ll throw spores into the sparse air
and watch the forests grow, the trees

stretch high up the slopes of Olympus Mons.
Day four let’s release mammals, birds

and other fauna into the forests and fields,
to watch them gorge on the goodness

of the land, enjoy the clarity of the sky.
Then on day five we’ll take ourselves

to the former red planet, to become
the feared Martians we thought were there.

Day six let us wage glorious, total war
among ourselves, make the rivers run red

in the name of the god who named this place.
And day seven let us rest, exhausted by labour

and lust, to examine our new abomination
from the safety of space’s vacuum,

in orbit with Phobos and Demos
without fear or dread of another first day.

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019 and 2011

The Day in History – Henri the Fourth of France Assassinated

Henri-Pourbus

By Frans Pourbus the Younger – from web, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8918292

Today in 1610, King Henry the Fourth of France was assassinated.

Henri, although baptised as a Catholic, was brought up as a Protestant. Due to the inflammatory religious situation in France and his background, he was at times considered an enemy by both Catholics and Protestants alike. As a result, there were many previous assassination attempts.

Despite often being unpopular during his reign, he was nevertheless considered a successful king, in economic, cultural, military and diplomatic terms, but only achieved his current status as a great king posthumously, when a virtual cult arose in his memory.

He was assassinated on May 14 1610 by a fanatic called Ravaillac in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, Paris.

Sir Edwin Lutyens – Ayscoughfee Hall No.2

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A hidden gem of Sir Edwin Lutyens in Spalding, Lincolnshire.

Sir Edwin Lutyens’ wonderful War Memorial to the local fallen of the Great War in the grounds of Ayscoughfee Hall, Spalding.

It may be one of his lesser known pieces of architecture, a ‘hidden gem’ that should be appreciated far more.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edwin_Lutyens

Poem: A Picture

pariscafe

Like a heavy Thirties’ vibrato, the early
talkie movie strings exquisite
yet tainting,

your restrained pose remains
steadfast before the storm, long shadows
of a vengeance which threatens

you, barely withheld. Still
your smiling eyes stare
back from Paris cafés through

mists of Gitanes, drenched
in sepia, like the relics of some
melancholy sun

© copyright David F. Barker 2013

Poem: The Creative

Enkidu

Enkidu (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Inspiration is a leech on the
creature of conflict. How much
better it would be if our lives were
merely plain and ordinary, transcending
this light and shade, our existence
reliant only on plucking fruit
from a tree, cupping clean
water from a stream; and that
all my words and lines,
such as they are,
derived solely from love and light.

But we’ve seen to it, you
and me, have decided
to find out and exaggerate
every little nuance we have, to look across
at each other from these
dubious divides with poison eyes, our fixed
minds like two scorpions in a bottle.
And what we can’t steal or bribe or starve
from each other, we will fight for
to the end, till every last
sap of strength and all our blood is gone –
for that sweet taste of victory.

We’ve all spoken these platitudes,
though only seldom act
or relent. Even in our shadowy beginnings
the weary Gilgamesh knew; primeval
battles between dark
and light still raging on inside.
His remorse and grief leap out
at us from figures in dried clay like
they were made today, a reflection
of ourselves, our tears,
the lessons never learned. So,
if you must – go ahead.
Do your worst! Though please
make it your best
and I will write, endlessly

poem © copyright David F. Barker 2013