Colin F. Jones

TO MY FELLOW POETS

~ 1 ~

Do we ride to recognition on a soldier’s back,
gaining fame from the horrors of his war,
appealing to the memories that no veterans lack
by exposing them again to blood and gore?
In what frail purpose is such hope confined
that raises ancient issues so many times described,
that serves not to prosper but yet to remind,
that we must ever suffer what the war prescribed?
Oh let us go good hearted and raise a righteous voice,
and demonstrate our passions to the multitude,
exercising privilege to make selective choice,
with the arrogant lack of knowledge that others haven’t viewed,
the lasting hell and torture a million families know,
who’ve learnt to live with agony choosing not to let it show.

~ 2 ~

What is the war poet’s purpose, a self-appraising hope?
Or does he write to seek the why of war?
Is it to push the soldier higher up the slope
Or to cast his net upon a lucrative shore?
Once we cross the river the raging torrent flow,
no longer shares the fear of it’s wrath,
and we must find our way to where we want to go,
along the current purpose of life’s path.
We can dwell in sunrise or we can dwell in dusk,
or we can stand just anywhere and stare;
we can make a difference or we can sit and rust,
or we can dwell on yesterdays despair.
Or we can live on hope and make a futile plea,
to all those folk who simply do not care.