We Write Poems 30

1 Dec

206 Coffins

Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.

*

*

8

 

I wrote this on the day the 206th British soldier died in Afghanistan.  It’s out of date now.

 

13 Responses to “We Write Poems 30”

  1. Musings December 1, 2010 at 10:34 #

    And it’s sad, sad, sad, isn’t it? I wish it could end. I wish it never started.

    Like

  2. vivinfrance December 1, 2010 at 11:12 #

    I remember this one from last year (?) It shouldn’t be too difficult to update it, sad though that thought is.

    Like

    • Tilly Bud December 1, 2010 at 11:35 #

      Yes. I didn’t update it because I wrote a follow-up one – which is also now out of date.

      Like

  3. pamela December 1, 2010 at 17:21 #

    Tilly,
    Very sad truth. When will it end.
    Pamela

    Like

  4. Harry Nicholson December 1, 2010 at 17:54 #

    It is like looking at one of the walls of The Menin Gate.

    Like

  5. 1sojournal December 1, 2010 at 20:04 #

    Harsh reality in simple language. Why can’t we understand it?

    Elizabeth

    Like

  6. Sharp Little Pencil December 1, 2010 at 23:01 #

    I am as vehemently against the war now as I was under that goofball George Bush. I was enflamed with anger at Body Bag Number One, whether from the US, the UK, or any other country.

    This form poem is a testament to the brave young men and women who died for one American white male draft-dodger child of privilege who had a beef with “the man who tried to kill my daddy.” It was during this time I actually became ashamed to be American. Thank you for a potent reminder of the loss. Multiply each of those body bags by the number of family members and friends… I hate that math.

    Peace, Amy Barlow Liberatore

    Like

    • Tilly Bud December 2, 2010 at 21:03 #

      Wow. That was the most impassioned comment I have ever read.

      Like

  7. gautami tripathy December 3, 2010 at 14:33 #

    Very very sad.

    retrieval

    Like

  8. Victoria Hendricks December 3, 2010 at 19:18 #

    Sad. Hard. Even sadder it is out of date now.
    V

    Like

  9. Chloe December 24, 2010 at 05:13 #

    Wow – this really hits home. So very sad xx

    Like

I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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