Fay Slimm.




Whispers from wine-coloured moonlight have now
blighted old river grass.
No-one will pass by this flood's blistering chorus of
frustrated past outcry.
The waters stay silted with years-long, war seared
bitterness as each ill-timed
Peace-talk crumbled to finish killed by conclusions
of coated top-brass.

Dreams of those tortoise-shell butterfly days faded
long before turbulent rapids
Drew young men and women toward battles over
naught but misapplied fears.
Lifetimes float hormonally by in riverside history of
pride's facade of need for action
Forces, press-mustered are taught blind allegiance
to naught but mindless leads.

Listening I hear victims' bubbling exits still weeping
regrets for conceding to hate.
Wisps of blood-to-come days surface from tainted
mud as no war moulders easily.
What happens when, hit by flows of violence peace
can no longer struggle for gain ?
In reddened undertow of river-mud foes arise from
those caught up in sightless obedience.

  • Author: Fay Slimm. (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 5th, 2023 04:26
  • Comment from author about the poem: After learning today of even more outbreaks of war I was reminded of the above posting and after an edit am airing its message again.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 9
  • Users favorite of this poem: Bobby O, L. B. Mek.
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  • Bobby O

    From the reddened undertow….caught…sightless obedience
    Really vivid and meaningful w the descriptive element never in the way , just joyously sling to augment without pretense.
    I enjoyed it. Read it twice. Thanks

  • Neville

    I hear thee loud, as do I also hear thee clearly ..
    and tho' again dear lady Fay the message resounds just as powerful and meaningfully .. x

  • arqios

    That is an undertow that will always be swelling beneath the surface. Poignantly gripping.

  • hotidris

    Excellent poem about the foes arising in the reddened undertow of river-mud.

  • Bella Shepard

    Such a timely and powerful message dear Fay. Why can our foresight not be as vivid as our hindsight. It's one thing to say that history repeats itself, it's another to simply accept it.

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