"Nightmares Still Unsaddled."
Fingers constantly
reach for the keys
but can seldom
open enough souls
to the hunger for change...
and even with a pencil, lead aches.
Poetry is a medium that calls up
the ghosts of yesteryear's,
sometimes other spirits are moved,
but it's those silent
masses that haunt me.
My soul is a stone tonight
cast into dark waters of despair
leaving ripples that note its passing.
The world wallows in the mire
of historical hysteria
reliving lessons unlearned.
Tonight the daft debated the draft,
as young flesh swallowed lead
and tasted foreign sands.
My twelve year old sleeps
a game boy on hold,
six years from the
sacrifice of futility.
I can still smell
the stench of jungle and napalm,
when night calls me to my deck
to shake the cobwebs of dreams,
long sealed in a dust covered sea-bag.
Dog tags rattle on the collars
of my welsh Corgis near me,
like the nomenclature on an M-16.
There's a tiny cabin
in Canada,
where refuge waits
in lakeside splendor
for my flesh and blood
still untouched by war.
But the patriot in me cries out
for America to come to its senses,
as a surge of blood
rushes through my ears,
only to puddle on Baghdad sand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Artis
A contest entry
- 100th Contest ....for my Favorites by MuddyKing.
10000 points, ended September 23, 2007, 23 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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my best buddy has two sons over in the sand and this hits so damn hard
the last stanza just settles in on your mind and lingers...so powerful
you are an artist
a word Artis
excellent
peace Muddy
-
"My soul is a stone tonight
cast into dark waters of despair
leaving ripples that note its passing."
Impressive, as always. Introspective, intelligent, poignant, raw & aching. As General Patton said, "A soldier is the first to pray for peace." Good luck in Muddy's contest, artis. 
Wanda
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I've got a son I ain't gonna sacrifice for oily shit so this hit hard ... raw? Hell yeah!!!
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the removal of one to the sanctity of the wee quiet spaces no matter how far they may be did nothing to mask the beats and yearns of theheart, that there was still more to be done and that safety was naught but a mirage... the innocence that childhood affords gone. in the yearning for the safty one would turn to the young, and want to do what best to grant the life of comfort that ye no longer ken... but sad that in the keeping of them, means so oft' the leaveing of them... ne'er to see the ages and wisdome that time can bring... and how i ache...
ye penn this wi' no less skill then any thing else...
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ironical, honest, absolutely raw. Made me ache.
Thanks so much. have added it
this is your page in case you have misplaces the url
http://peace-chain.tripod.com/id153.html
and have posted the poem here
http://peace-chain.tripod.com/id156.html
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good lord. your poetry makes me ache every time, you have such a gift hun! i can feel the pain dripping fromt this, the intense need every parent feels to somehow, someway, spare our children from this world. it wasnt until i had my babies that the reality of how truly fucked this world is became clear. i can only hope im strong enough, wise enough, to raise my children into people cappable of facing and changing the future i wish they werent stuck with. as always, thank you for sharing such a lovely part of yourself. i never feel good about leaving a mere three applause for you.
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