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Wednesday, March 2, 2016

War

2nd March 2016

War

Re-reading  my poem, The Football Game, made me think about war and how we are so conditioned to accept that between people there will be fights.
You only have to think about siblings in any family . Some might be more peaceful than others but, in my experience most children bicker and argue. Often there is no serious intent and most episodes end moments later, in the culprits playing together like best buddies. And , in the meantime, if you have tried to interfere and part the aggressors, they are likely to unite and turn on you.
And it's difficult in life  to have any relationship that is always agreeable and content, whether it's with a spouse, other family members , friends , work colleagues , etc etc .
And isn't it true that most of us like to watch films, dramas and documentaries that have conflict and violence/killing as the main content. The same with our reading matter... Why??
Well, peaceful, loving lives are a bit boring and don't have much drama about them, do they?
But should we be so comfortable with the idea of killing other people, even in the case of " a just war" , whatever that really means .

Just a bit of rambling ...

What do you think ???



 Day 19:  19th April, 19th poem

AS it's FA cup semi-final weekend I thought I'd  ponder on a famous football game of the past.

The Football Game


There was a lull in firing, acrid, bullet-mist - still floating.
Mud carpeted with thin evening frost,
And - carried sweetly on the air -bringing tears to weary men-
Singing- "Silent Night."
Bodies rise above trenches, stretch, hesitant ...nudge each other,
Slowly... warily... unbelieving- one step...then another -
Draw closer, sing in unison, meet in the middle,
  "No man's land"
A ball, a game, a goal - or two, tentative camaraderie,
On sidelines two soldiers - opposing camps- smoke,
Share stories - wives, children, hobbies -
Walk together, relax in comfortable ditch,
Moments of quiet remembering - warm now
They drift into sleep-
Wake to the din of gunfire, the morning sky hidden behind
Smokescreen of war resuming.
German stands,  takes a look - bang....
Shot down by his own, he falls , blood sprays like a garden sprinkler
English breathes tepid, red death -  his "friend"  crushes him in heavy embrace
Gently he places him by his side and prays, and prays,
Tears flow free , mix with life juice - there he waits.
 Night comes, he says goodbye, creeps back to camp ,
Wipes sleeve across eyes answers his sergeant,
"German soldier got shot, fell on me, that's all."






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