Poem: The Trenches

The Trenches

This is where life is fought,
not on the parade ground with colors bright
and creases pin-sharp
create oohs and ahs from the spectators,
lined to watch the show,

Not in the battlefield
where bravery is expected
and reactions, not our minds
rule the day,

but here, in the dark holes
of the trenches,
where, helpless, our walls
protect us, and we hunker down,

preparing in silence
for that moment
where we charge,
or flee. 

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The picture was taken at the Army Heritage Center, in Carlyse, PA, where they have, among other things, a recreation of World War One trenches. This was the headquarters of this section of trenches. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: The Fires of War

The Fires of War

Your eyes are red, weepy and tired
from lack of sleep, and the smoke
of war lies grey and threatening
like a night fog, licked with flames,

tired, like an ancient warrior
on the plains of Troy, on that last day,
when, even certain of victory,
you are stooped with the exhaustion of defeat.

Nearby, others bristle with excitement,
their first victory, and the adrenaline
that courses through their young bodies,
feeling, for a moment, invincible, eternal in the moment,

and they wonder at your quiet, at the calm
that has marked you in this week of chaos,
not knowing the truth that will come:
that there is always another battle,

and that victory is more about preserving your soul
than the tides of war.

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I always find it amazing where poems, or any creative work, comes from. This one for instance, began because as I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, I had exceptionally bloodshot eyes. So I decided to play with the image of bloodshot eyes to begin a poem. Somewhere in the process, I remembered this picture.

The picture goes back to November, when my small group at church gathered around bonfires of brush on the church property, for an evening of fellowship. It was about as far from war as you can get, but the fires, several of them burning in a row, reminded me of campfires in an ancient battle. This poem combines that mental image with a long contentious week at work ... and this poem seems to have emerged. Not at all where I started.

As always, you can click on the image for a larger version.

Tom