A dark seed,
Floating, it seems
On a hot desert wind
Silent.
Falling to the ground
There to bloom
In searing yellow
Shot through with carmine
And veins of a darker hue.
Beauty in the midst
Of austerity.
The observer is taken
By the spectacle
And smiles.
'Zero, this is Tango Three Zero,
Target destroyed. Over.'
'Roger, Tango Three Zero,
Return to base. Out.'
' Roger, ETA one hour. Out.'
Smoke follows the blooms.
Letters to families
Will follow the smoke.
A good surprise here, and all the more effective. The notion of beauty in an explosion, when seen impersonally, is very striking. Similar feel to 5.58.
Excellent write Martin of those few seconds after launch...very descriptive...thank you...Fi
Brilliant...works up to a crescendo and then the simple anticlimactic assertion...bound to startle and shock.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I should have been prepared by that word searing. The observer taken by the spectacle, thinking I was reading about a desert flower... was me.