For today

Remembrance Sunday

For every poet gas flame in their throats
Who scramble scrawled last verses in the mud
Each child whose flower blasted in the bud,
Musician detonation deafened notes

Nurses their wounds unbandaged and no bed
To make for them except a random grave
Civilian dead whom voting working praying did not save.
This is the day we’re silent for the dead.

Whom praying cannot help. And there is gold
In vaults somewhere that’s smeared with so much blood.
Some planner might have stopped it – yes they could –
Yet profited from calculation cold.

Colder than all those dead. Let memory
Be rage as well as sorrowsympathy.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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2 Responses to For today

  1. dyvan says:

    lines criss cross scar patient earth
    killing gas stealing life’s breath
    trees mutilated by scything shrapnel
    all of time soldiers know a hell
    the dead have ever had no say
    can vote neither yea or nay
    and companies swollen fat
    on war trade and instruments of death
    profits held and make some rich
    while Truth cowering beaten in a ditch
    shell shock for widows and orphans many
    while bankers manipulate markets canny
    politicians declare their own ways were right
    ignore the death and the peace blight
    with isms false and patriotic speeches
    none of the smug bastards law impeaches
    the world is theirs and of us makes
    fools again as ever again earth with war shakes.

  2. history_monk says:

    Be rage as well as sorrowsympathy.

    Just so. Never again.

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