of the Somme, Vimy Ridge and modern times .. .
Out where the two dykes cross
you could be in the desert
of Atacama as far as remoteness
we surprised a black-eared hare
He scuttled from his hiding place
disappeared at pace glancing
remotely over his shoulder as if one
outlying sniper unbedded from a ditch
The grass out there grows with the wheat
long since grown in warm weather sweet
long as the mane of brave Ardennes horses
their bloodline mixed Arabian and Belgian
Those horses shouldered gun-carriages
in the mud, where blood mixed heathen
bled european in the first war, the great war
the shit war of the Somme, a war to end all wars
my booted foot crushes down these grasses
as I consider the losses of men so young
whose sap rose sentient and earthy
whose conversation blithe remained cheery
I march my black dog, he that is melancholy
boundless he follows in my awkward steps
Tommy et les Francais advance to meet with Jerry
their khaki tunics crimson stained and ruddy
I step out at Vimy Ridge tufted grass under foot
sounds of the heaviest artillery attend our path
four divisions of the bravest Canadian corps
on the ground before us, men, the dog and I
shell-fire in the mid-distance crashes low
our hare bounding once more to show
running on the margins that bares the brunt
my mind racing back to the Western Front
the green-gold fields out here ripple swollen
as a sea full of corn yet ever those young men
lay in their carnage in blight of mud, weathered scorn
to wish tho’ breathing they might never have been born
.
.
edenbray ☢︎ - a BEAT POET 