Cargo 200: The same consignment but a different time.
The bodies of sons, pale with lime.
Manifest horror shrouded in black polythene,
God alone knows what the contents had seen.
Young men fighting for the bitter ruble the new Macedonian King had paid.
After weeping over the remains he'd surveyed.
At the border his soldiers daubed zigzags while they were waiting;
Death's zed I.D. on their armour plating.
Then the sky grew dark where people lived and let live.
Heaven help Kharkiv, Mariupol, Bucha and Chernihiv
But as the seventy-twos rumbled in for the kill,
Their turrets were popped like scarabs on a grill.
So the generals sent for more tanks
with paint still bright from the previous Victory parade:
Join our convoy of ducks, dear comrades!
Become cans of worms prised open by fire-and-forget rockets,
But your mothers won't forget as they sign your dockets:
A special delivery from a military operation,
Neatly packaged as the Pride of a Nation.
Slav on Slav, like some cruel computer game seen from on high,
Played by godly drones that don't see the whites of an eye.
Red on Blue, Blue on Red:
A new crimson flag of the blood that was shed.
But in the autumn, when triumph reigns over the rubble;
the burnt bridges and the severed ties,
Let us ride through the New Asculum: and forget the lies.
Whilst in the Wild Fields, irrigated by a thousand mothers' tears,
The reality is black plastic bags all lined up in rows
In the place where sunflowers used to grow.
-
Author:
angus wardlaw (
Offline) - Published: August 30th, 2022 09:51
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
Comments1
For once here I found a pursuit of the picture to be absolutely relevant. It complemented the material in your well constructed piece. A good place to start.
I found a wealth of carefully balanced detail in your work and wonder if you have any special connection with the conflict?
hi Dave, thanks for your great comments. I'm an ex-tank commander trained exclusively in defending against Soviets. Pretty much exactly what we're seeing now with Putin's army invading their neighbours. It's the mothers and their families i feel for - the horror of seeing their child delivered in a bodybag. Maybe they will be the ones who end this?
Thanks Angus. So I can assume your tank commander role was within the US Military, can I? An interesting (read different) background to most (possibly all) poets here. More diversity can only make for some interesting conversations.
As for mothers, families and body bags - that's the nature of war whenever and wherever it occurs.
And Angus - in the interests of full disclosure, I think I should add that I'm quite possibly not in your corner here with respect to war. If in doubt, I have pieces posted as early as March 12 and on. You are of course free to review them if interested.
Goes without saying that it is quite possible to have a respectful debate on this topic if interested.
Take care.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.