Been away a long time

[Da_Yog]

Sheesh, hi everyone. Been gone a long time. Over a year now. Was busy trying to afford school and had to let my internet account go bye bye. At any rate I've found the site again and will be popping in and out from time to time when school/work permits.

 

This is a very visual poem relying on layout for much of it's effect. Unfortunately I can't for the life of me seem to get the layout right in this format. I therefore present you with two options . You can download the attachment for the beter version hopefully appearing here...Steps_in_the_Sand_4.rtf...or you can read the other version to follow. Either way I hope you enjoy.

 

The original inspriation, should you wish to reference it is "Lullaby" by William Blake. I think the only thing that really remains from the original is the overall tone of the poem. Later all. Take care.

 

Steps in the Sand

 

Deep in the hell of this oil-black night

The ceaseless wailings of banshees curse.

In a blackened hole resides my shivering soul

Scorched earth covered his form—formerly a friend

When our faerie of death stopped screaming.

Bloody, vacant his face appeared

Hollow eyes—once full of life—leered.

 

“Frank! Frank!” I cried!

“The curse of war is upon me—died…

What vain desire…What seething fire…

Has perpetuated such infernal ire?”

 

Blackened pits glare from windswept sands

Each damn gust—just another deadly curse.

Like Aladdin’s Spiteful genie twisting every gift

Hate, ash, sand, and bile—compressed by ignorance—pile.

Until deep beneath the viscous oil boils—black.

Glistening in the sun it rages and roils!

Waiting for the World again to wound.

 

“Jihad! Jihad!” He cried!

“A curse on those whom I was taught to despise!

Curse the open hand, like steps on windblown sand…

Such are the lives of man!”

 

A boy in The House—holds a toy up high

Strings from wooden crosses hang—

He twists and turns and spins and plays

While the dummy on strings clumsily obeys.

Across the room green plastic men pose,

While the statesman’s wife straightens his tie;

A message on parchment his chief aid brings.

 

“Frank. Frank.” He sighed.

“I’m terribly sorry that you died.

You said, no blood for oil…

But if not for oil, then whose blood do we toil?”

 

Salt laden drops fall to the ground,

Mixing and swirling—rapidly blending

With summer squall from Heaven sent.

Men in green—smartly dressed

Medals and ribbons clipped to their chest

Forearms rigid, fingertips to brow

A mother’s eyes, hollow—to folded flag peers.

 

“Frank! Frank!” She cries!

“A curse upon those who make sons die!

A tear on a rose…A wilted pose…

May the rain wash away our desolate woes!”

 

Long into the night the battle rages

But all he can hear is the owl screeching.

Deadly calls in the dark, heavy air

Screaming sounds as a woman of terror.

Then in the witching hour, he bolts from bed

He calls out for safety—for his father

But the son could not be heard from within war’s den!

 

“Dad! Dad!” He cries!

“It’s your absence I most despise!

Will I ever be wise…Able to intelligently surmise…

Or will hate be the legacy of your demise?”

Edited September 22, 2007 by Da_Yog

[Wyvern]

Welcome back, Yog! :-) I like this poem, particularly when I view it in its original format. The fifth stanza, which sits at the center of the poem in the version with proper spacing, was my favorite part of the poem and was rightfully chosen as the poem's centerpiece in my opinion. The imagery in that stanza was excellent, as the boy playing with soldiers and the parallel image of the statesman both really drove across the overarching theme of the poem well. I think I like the stanzas that incorporate specific imagery pertaining to war and the soldier's child more than the initial stanzas depicting dark fantasy-style images, as those stanzas felt like an older style of poem to me. I'm also not sure if the first person that appears in the first two stanzas of the poem is necessary to the poem as a whole, as that person could just as easily be referenced as a third person like the characters of the later stanzas are. I really like the way that you position the stanzas, by the way, particularly in the way that the various exclamations are placed side by side.

 

Very well done overall, Yog. :-) It seems like you put a lot of time and effort into structuring this, and it shows. Nice to have you back with us!

 

With that, Wyvern steals one of the military hard hats from the area surrounding Yog's poem and places it on his noggin. The lizard then whimpers and slinks away in the hopes of avoiding any troll clubbing...

[Da_Yog]

Thanks Wyvern. I can understand the difficulty with the first stanza. The banshee reference in particular could seem antiquated but it serves, in my mind, as an important link with the first pair and last pair of stanzas. In the first stanza it stands in as a double metaphor: one for the obvious death symbology and then again as a more subtle reference to the screaming of incoming artillery or mortar rounds. The second is much more inferred and can be done without. The linking to the last stanza occurs in the form of the linking of myths. In the last stanza pairing the boy hears the screeching of an owl. The myth, at least in southern folk lore, is that if you hear a screech owl three times in one night then someone you know, usually a relative, will die. This provides an obvious link to the banshee of stanza one...if you are familiar with the myth. Hopefully the question you are left with is to wonder if this is an eternally repeating cycle? Does the boy become, the dead father, the hateful killer, the childish statesman, or does he forgive and go the way of the mother? At any rate I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[Regel]

Welcome back Da_Yog! As I read this poem the memory of my recent visit to Arlington came back vividly. Battlefields are often littered with young lives and often at the end of a conflict scars remain in the living that never go away. Your poem captured all of that for me. Nice to have you back.