A war by any other name.

A child's laughter fills the shattered classroom,
but there are no children, only piles of dust
and feral cats licking their lips, as stray dogs
with loyalty still in their eyes, gaze from a
distance, reluctant to join the feast.

Outside, aftermath smoke curls over
haphazardly scattered bits and pieces,
recognisable only by those who survived;
whilst the man in the gilded cage looks on,
the piles of dust less important to his
febrile ambition, than the dust itself.

Above it all, a white cloud scuds,
a balloon of light spotlighting the ground.

But it is alone, seeking friendship in

an otherwise cloudless sky, wondering why

there is distant thunder and lightening
but no rainfall, only rags and wisps.

Soon then, it will be the naming of parts,
compassionate, yet of necessity insensate;
no hope of lifting clean hands to the sun,  
as bullets cleave through blood and bone
and a thousand howling cannon shells
rain down like ashes from a forest fire.

And still the man in the gilded cage
looks on, wicked, poisonous, and old,
no pity makes his depths to move;
instead, he seeks an ageless immortality
from a ragtag empire doomed to dust,
as disease, depravity, disgrace
compete as equals in his ugly,
ugly face.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

All poetry is prejudice Crane said. What he meant is that there is no (more) normative madness. War is so unnatural and unwavering in its symmetry to nothing. It makes a specimen of objectivity and cannot be claimed by nature. During WW1 the sides for revenge were more represented in both civilian society and government than was peace and surrender. This is a political poem, a departure for you, which means that when a poet is touched by world events it must be made manifest. I hear you and I love you. dana.

[Perdition]

A wonderful write but as to the content it has always been my strong belief that it begins in the home and community. The gilded cage man is the reflection of our failure to notice these things...these mad and utter disgusting days that go on and on without end pain me to the soul. As a child I drank from the fountain and fought with fists and perhaps bars, mostly laughter and there is no doubt we have ampt up but someone out there knows and isn't telling. You can blame social media and the Mayors but truly it is our own failures as a totality and community that lead us down these roads. Loved this poetry of seemingly and most definite deep and disturbing apathy. Tell you what..Beam me down...our words have changes to impart and no on gets out without first looking in~ Wonderful!! Never let us rely solely upon the governing by others. Thank you for this painful read Beccy~

[Andrew2401]

Brilliantly written, it hits home and hits hard!

Do you think one day we might learn the lesson?

Andrew2401

[Coyote Poetry]

I watch the leaders talk of war. I watch the leaders talk of nuclear war. I wonder do they realize. They will be dead too? Powerful and worthwhile words shared dear Beccy. Where are the peacemakers my dear friend?
Coyote

[Chris Shaw]

The madman in the gilded cage. Yes we know who he is and what he wants his legacy to be. He doesn’t even care about his own people let alone those he is murdering. A truly graphic account of a terrible war with no sign of an end game. The suffering is mind boggling. Conveyed so well Beccy.

Chris

[Neville]

You just nailed war and in particular, his war Becky the ugliness and absurdity and injustice of it, so you bloomin did and truly .. I forgot to say, yes we are fine, just getting old and more achy .. Best to you and Charlie x

[John the Baptist]

A very graphic picture of war here. I think we all know who the man in the gilded cage is, and the motives behind his heartless aggression. Liked the way you worked Henry Reed's poem into this one.

[Beccy]

Thanks. Those three words 'naming of parts,' were a perfect fit and I trusted that Mr Reed would have no objection to my doff of the cap to his wonderful poem. :))

Beccy.

PS,
One of my favourites of his is 'The Auction Sale.'

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, he has the ugliest face.
And all those children...he can sleep with his conscience?

Can't have one I am pretty sure.
your images in this are unnerving...
j.

[Alla Antsis]

Beccy, I am so in line with what you wrote here! The war has the ugliest face. Most of my writing echoing the Ukrainian / Russian war but it could have been any war same as you wrote beautifully and with the picture of horror. Please check out my poems - I thought I was in a minority camp with the subject but happy to find yours.