Poetry about war changes nothing, of course.
War is a relentless juggernaut, and once in motion
(no pun intended) both Mr Newton and the rest
of us know full well what will and what will not happen.
REGIME CHANGE by Andrew
MotionAdvancing down the road from Niniveh
Death paused a while and said 'Now listen here.
You see the names of places roundabout?
They're mine now, and I've turned them inside out.
Take Eden, further south: At dawn today
I ordered up my troops to tear away
Its walls and gates so everyone can see
That gorgeous fruit which dangles from its tree.
You want it, don't you? Go and eat it then,
And lick your lips, and pick the same again.
Take Tigris and Euphrates; once they ran
Through childhood-coloured slats of sand and sun.
Not any more they don't; I've filled them up
With countless different kinds of human crap.
Take Babylon, the palace sprouting flowers
Which sweetened empires in their peaceful hours -
I've found a different way to scent the air:
Already it's a by-word for despair.
Which leaves Baghdad - the star-tipped minarets,
The marble courts and halls, the mirage-heat.
These places, and the ancient things you know,
You won't know soon. I'm working on it now.'
Another aspect of war - the forgotten ones:
FORGOTTEN HEROS by Tony Newman
Here, take these, you're going to need
'em- uniform tin hat and gun.
Don't forget your gas-mask either,
You can never trust the hun.
You'll be home by Christmas, sonny,
That's a fact, I guarantee.
Just you do your bounden duty,
Think and act heroically.
Who's for dying for their country?
Who a patriot would be?
They forget us when were lying
In some foreign cemetery.
Who my weedy grave is tending?
Who's feeding my family
With a gratefulness unending?
. . . not those who conscripted me!
