This week I have broken with my rule of using the war poets and have for a change used a poem written about the The First World War, what is more it was written this week.
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The poem is hard to read, hard hitting, cruel and it cuts like a knife. The death depicted here is not the stuff of “Jonny Hero” dying bravely stiff upper lip and jovial words for his friends, his pals. No here in is the mud, guts, defecation,urine , blood, bone and tears. The gut wrenching agony of death from gas. The young man lying with his guts/ bowels hanging out or a leg or arm blown off.
Soldiers rotting from the feet up smelling of death, sweat, urine and cheap whores praying they will survive and get home to family and hearth ..hoping to get rid of the lice, fleas and what ever extra little gifts they may of picked up on their last 24hr leave.
Yes the poem below says all that and much more and in much fewer words. maggiemaeijustsaythis I thank you for this truly beautiful War Poem. I am not sure if beautiful is the correct word for this work of art.
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The Charge
By maggiemaeijustsaythis
Hard back pages, stained with
time and aged aroma.
1915. A battle is painted.
Acid slashing,spitting.
Direct eyes leap from a tiny cliff
onto young bodies. Bloodied. Abandoned.
Somewhere, some mothers stand as sharp
as shrapnel,
bullets piercing their wombs,
their children’s supple homes.
Trembling hands
find a gun
and a buddy. A soldier. A boy.
Death has no time in
these fields. He is hurried.
Frontal attacks sweep
unprotected spots. Blurring instinct.
Blinding the Earth with a scarlet bath.
Burying dirt with
young boys, men.
1915. Hard back pages, stained with
memory and
the scent of suffering.
And this….
just the beginning.
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maggiemaeijustsaythis wrote the poem above after reading an article for the news papers Mons later publish in a book of short stories . written by W Douglas Newton. I can find no information on W Douglas Newton himself apart from the fact that he was a prolific writer who wrote fiction and fact about war. His books and articles painted a truer picture than any of the propaganda released at the time. maggiemaeijustsaythis called her poem The Charge
maggiemaeijustsaythis says this about herself .
On Words: “I love them as if they were children, discipline them as if they were students.” ~ Maggie MaeI write for THE INNOCENTS: the depressed, for the wicked, the sad, the pained, for the bipolar, the schizo, the anxiety ridden nail-biters, the nervous twitchers, the PTSD’s that wake up 5 times throughout the night in a shaken-paralyzed-panic. I write for the suicidal, the manic, the hyper-active, the creative, the angry, the irrational. I write for the guilty, the pleasure hunters, the hookers, the addicts. I write for you alcoholics, you misunderstood, you a/bi/homo/hetero – overly sexual beings. I write for you thinkers, you crooks, you educated, you street-laced whores. I write for you gossiping, backstabbing, ruthless, conniving bitches. I write for the part of you that wants to speak up but is too afraid of what other people will think.I write for me! I am an INNOCENT. I write for the depressed, wicked, sad, pained, bipolar, schizo, anxiety ridden, nervous, PTSD, nightmared, panicky, suicidal, manic, hyper-active, creative, angry, irrational, guilty, pleasure seeking, hooker, addict, alcoholic, misunderstood, a/bi/homo/hetero-overly sexual, thinker, crook, educated, whore parts of me! I write for the gossiping, backstabbing, ruthless, conniving bitch part of me! I write for the part of me that wants to speak up but is too afraid of what other people will think….
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Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here. Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:
willowdot21 
