Ralph, what is your poem doing in Drills and Amusements? Previously workshopped or published? I might have missed it over here, but I’m glad I didn’t. Very fine and so sadly apt.

... In fact, it reminds me of a poem called “Bosnia Song.” I don’t care for a lot of the verse that Brodsky, a wizard in Russian, wrote in English, but these opening stanzas have stayed with me:

As you sip your brand of scotch,
crush a roach, or scratch your crotch,
as your hand adjusts your tie,
people die.

In the towns with funny names,
hit by bullets, caught in flames,
by and large not knowing why,
people die.

In small places you don’t know
of, yet big for having no
chance to scream or say goodbye,
people die.

Carl,

Thanks for the high five! I wrote it yesterday, so it wasn't workshopped and isn't published.

And thanks for the "Bosnia Song," new to me.

.

Tit For Tat and All That

If it wasn’t so tragic it might be funny —Maybe Monty Python


Tit for tat for tit for tat for tit for tat
for tit for tat for tit for tat and all that.

Yes eyes for eyes, yes teeth for teeth.
No never turn the other cheek.

(Find me the forbidden lovers under the covers,
entwined together, possessing what others seek.)

The eyeless cannot see.
The toothless cannot speak.

Some hold tongues, others wag fingers
at the venomous who bleed hatred

upon the young who are learning
the ancient unrest, ungodly, unsung.

.
.
.

.

Who Begets Who

Who
put a gun to the head of the one
with a gun to the head of the one
with a gun to the head of the one
with a gun to the head of the one
without a gun?
Who?
One by one
each pulls the trigger
until it is done.



.

This probably doesn't fit the rubric, but it's all I have and I wanted to play. A poem for kids that treats the "horrors" very, very slant, if at all. (Ralph, I agree with Carl. Yours is very good).



ARMY ANTS

How can there be army ants?
... They're simply too minute.
Though ants can march, I'm pretty sure
... they cannot wear a boot.
They cannot stand up on two legs
... and solemnly salute.
And I have never seen a gun
... so small an ant could shoot.

Rog,

Thoreau would approve of your amusing reductio ad absurdum satire of horrible humanity’s ant-like marches into battle.

Lost Boy

Not long after your picture had been filed
the press began to circulate another.
Your brief appearance as “drowned Syrian child”
was superseded by your little brother.

The media reviewed the human damage
and Don McCullin with his Magnum eye
explained why Aylan’s was the single image
your tragedy will be remembered by.

You were too clearly dead; he seemed asleep.
He was the Twitter “Ooh”, the Facebook “Aww”.
His was the picture that they chose to keep;
an easy icon for a distant war.

Your likeness now is difficult to find.
Not quite so cute, and yet a lot more true,
uncomfortable, best put out of mind.
This poem, Ghalib Kurdi, is for you.

Ann, that's absolutely wonderful. Wow.

I didn't know the incident involves so I did a Google and am now filled in. FYI, his aunt says that her nephew's name was Alan, not Aylan as the press widely reported.

Ann,

A lovely tribute to one and so many others lost.