Colin F. Jones


The great green birds with flapping wings
Descend from where the skylark sings
In swirling dust and flying flocks
Of shattered scrubs and broken rocks
It lands its circling wings aflap
Green soldiers spit out from its lap
Who crouching run as bulky forms
To where the grassy earth performs
A lively dance from rotor draught
That lift it up this hovering craft
With nostrils smelling out the way
The chopper lighter skims away
Climbs until it tips to speed
Away across the wood and weed

The guns are dropped like precious eggs
Upon their twisted bony legs
Displayed in deadly wanton arks
Above the pegged out aiming marks
Subservient gunners tend their wares
Renders sight and voice prepares
Prepare their fodder tipped with death
That pant with eager cordite breath
To make a pathway through the sky
Encased in steel and primed to die
To suicide with hollow din
Upon the house they shatter in
That crumples with defiant cross
In tragic useless hopeless loss