Butterflies At Dawn

Who knows what storms the silence brews...while the western front sleeps,

What fiery trails of blitzkriegs and bombs; in catacombs where the valiant weep,

In the endless night, as we watch out for, sporadic fireworks in the sky,

Our mortal fears, our wistful tears, sheathed 'neath comforting lies.

And all the weary miles, that stretch behind, to my home far away,

To the azure sky, to the seamless green, to a sweeter yesterday,

The field of dreams, yet awaits my return, in the sultry summer haze,

All blurry glimpses, and mere memories now; amid familiar forgotten faces...

The fragrant labyrinths; the dewy turf oozed, of petrichor infused euphoria,

The simmering stream; ever blissfully ecstatic, to the raindrops' fantasia,

Clouds converged 'cross the leaden horizon, in a mystic dance of shadows,

While we kissed farewell, 'neath the blushing cherry-blossoms, and whispered our parting vows.  

The dawn sky shimmers, in rhapsodic shades, as I turn to the flutter of wings,

That sprinkle stardust, on blood-stained bayonets; the long lost carefree mornings,

Across bridgeheads and battlefields, they dance; redeem the departed souls,
Oh emancipate us! On thy enchanted wings, to the promised Eldorado.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the thoughts and the journey.
"Across bridgeheads and battlefields, they dance; redeem the departed souls,
Oh emancipate us! On thy enchanted wings, to the promised Eldorado."
I do like the above lines and thank you for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Mrudula Rani]

Butterflies at dawn is a beautiful concept,
( butterflies don't take to flight, without warmth of sun)
You write with such a comand of language and weave lovely images with your signature imprinted on your verses.

[JayG]

You've bitten off a huge chunk to chew on, and I think the message may be have become a bit muddled for someone who, unlike you, has access to what the words suggest to them, but not to your intent. In S1 you open with the theme of someone on the front in WWII. Then, you recall what their time was like before they left home, with some over-the-top fantasy leave-taking.

In the final stanza you seem to move to the aftermath of war, prettily phrased. But what's the message? That life was perfect before the violence? That doesn't track. That war ruins everything? There seems to be no focus, other then poetic imagery piled on poetic imagery.

As a realist I'm probably the best one to comment on the message, though. As far as structural issues, S1 establishes an AABB rhyme structure (though "sleeps" and "weep," plus. "sky" and "lies" seem weak rhymes).

But S2 changes to AABC structure, which you maintain, a change I found jarring. And the number of feet per line/stanza is inconsistant. It seems you're more focused on vivid imagery than prosody and meaning. For example, fears and tears are sheathed beneath lies? What lies? Since you don't say, it appears that the final word was chosen to provide a rhyme, rather than advance the thought. In other words, a focus more on pretty than on meaning. And if so, I think you might want to tone that down to better balance meaning and glitter.

But, that's a personal view. Your mileage may differ.

[Swagato Saha]

I think I was merely trying to highlight the plight of the soldier here. And how, on rare off nights, he dwells on nostalgic fantasies. The last stanza isn't really about the war coming to an end. It's, in a way, inspired from a particular scene from "All Quiet On The Western Front". It's basically supposed to symbolise the faint glimmer of hope amidst all the desolation. And I believe, that is the message here.

[JayG]

Look at what you're saying: "This section was supposed to be..." and "that reference should have..." As writers, we can never lose sight of the fact that when we release our words into the world, we, our intent, and everything about us become irrelevant.

The one who reads our words is an enigma. They're someone we probably know nothing about. They'll have a different background from ours, have different cultural assumptions, even if they live only a few miles away—and the odds say it's much further. They're probably of a different age group, and the product of a educational system that doesn't quite match ours. They stand a fifty percent chance of having different gender biases, too. Given that, the fact that they have only what our words suggest to THEM based on THEIR background, and that they have no access to our intent, What chance is there that what they get is what we intended? Pretty low, right?

So how do we resolve such a massive problem? By use of one simple tool, context. Out reader must be operating on the same context we are, which will give the words the meaning we intend.

When writing fiction the answer is simple. We make the reader know the situation as the protagonist does. We'll be certain they're aware of the resources the protagonist has, and what that character sees as necessary action and speech—and why. Do that, and the reader has had their perceptions calibrated to those of the protagonist, and BECOMES the protagonist for all practical purposes, which gives them a personal interest in knowing if what follows will go as hoped.

In poetry that's a bit more difficult, but just as necessary. So in this, perhaps, had you spent more time on the soldier's situation, the reason for the anguish and fear of death that creates the flashback, it would make his wishing to be back home immediate, personal, and therefor, necessary as the reader sees it, which would relieve the tension you've made the reader feel, and be welcome, to them. Within the flashback you might contrast the pastoral past to the gritty present, to maintain focus on the why of it (and perhaps compress it a bit, given that it's a moment's respite, not a change of scene). And given that you now show a specific, countryside past, one that city-bred soldiers would not have shared, make it specific to the soldier who represents them all, thus tightening the focus.

Bear in mind that what I suggested isn't a "do this and it's okay," suggestion, only an example of the kind of thing that might bring the reader to "see it your way."

Hope this helps.

[Swagato Saha]

I disagree with what you said about our intent becoming irrelevant once we release our art. Because art is primarily about expression and whatever it is one intended to express, can never be rendered irrelevant. Also, I suppose you could say the last stanza is inspired from a particular scene. People not getting the reference should hardly be a problem because I think the poem makes sense as a whole. Irrespective of who the person reading is, or where he comes from.

[JayG]

• Because art is primarily about expression and whatever it is one intended to express, can never be rendered irrelevant.

You miss the point. It's irrelevant to the reader because they can't know it.. For you, the words point to the intended images and knowledge that's stored in your mind. So you experience exactly what you want the reader to experience.

But what of the reader? For them, the words point to the intended images and knowledge that's stored in YOUR mind, not theirs. All they have is your words and what they suggest to THEM, based on their background, not your intent. So is your intent relevant to the reader who knows you only as a name at the top of the piece? No. And who did you write this for? Shouldn't you make your intent clear through what the words evoke in their minds?

• Also, I suppose you could say the last stanza is inspired from a particular scene.

Helps you a lot. But not being privy to your intent for what it's supposed to refer to...

[Jon Roggie]

Lovely. Interesting mix of visuals.

[Neville]

A moving tale told terribly well... N

[Esther]

It's really moving, reminiscent of "All Quiet on the Western Front." This year marks the centenary of the end of World War 1.