Haibun: War is Never Civil

united-states-of-america-flag-905191
Photo by Gerritt Tisdale from Pexels

Some arresting civil war portraits,
they are not easy to share.
Two young men posing awkwardly,
bow ties for battle, their absent smiles
due to the long exposure.
A picture may say a thousand words
but raises profound questions too.
It’s brother versus brother,
one in blue, the other in gray
and no quarter will be given,
courtesy of sponsors miles from the front.
There’s no fear in their eyes,
only the vacancy of open fields.
They will show allegiance to their flag,
let’s hope it protects them.
Both think their causes are just,
but many have come this way
and many more will follow –
in the name of liberty.
Their country may need them
but is it theirs?

These faded pictures
Forgotten names of young men
Sacrificial pose

copyright Francis Barker 2020

*To the uninitiated, a haibun is the combination of a prose poem and a haiku.

 

Tanka: Awoken

war battle middlage
Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com

I was awoken
Truth hit me like a great weight
The old world was gone
Legions of ghostly soldiers
Gathered to deliver truth

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: In The News

woman holding newspaper while burning
Photo by Produtora Midtrack on Pexels.com

Claim and counter claim
This is war in all but name
Forget right and left

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Brothers

two men standing beside painted wall
Photo by Saroj Gajurel on Pexels.com

Brother fights brother
Egged on towards destruction
The blind are not led

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Sunday Poem: The Blooded White Rose

black and white nature flowers close up view
Photo by Jack Hawley on Pexels.com
The car parked marked with an R,
as if your spirit had hovered 
for half a millenium to mark 
the deconsecrated spot. 
A few inches either side 
and you may have been lost forever, 
though there was little chance of that, 
so precisely did you engage with the living, 
the aggrieved who wished to dig up 
your true reputation 
with those poignant bones. 
The sight of that curved spine, 
it touched our hearts, 
wincing at the thought of you 
holding a sword and swinging it, 
yet swing it you did 
to save your country, your soul. 
The wounds so clear, 
graphically revealed the ignominy 
of your passing, the blood lust 
and hate of those thrusting 
at the legally occupied throne. 
History is just a story, after all, 
to which most of us consent, 
but I think of you often, Richard, 
the bloody white rose 
cut too soon on a dark August day.

copyright Francis Barker 2020

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