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Rating: 4.5

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin
that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud ...
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home -
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
not entering the story now

to die and die and die.
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Saturday, August 29, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: veterans
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Michael Morgan 29 August 2015

wonderful pulsation and line-measurement; makes the concept of free verse logical

2 0 Reply
Bhagabat Prasad Hotta 13 November 2018

So beautiful poem... . .I enjoyed this poem. So nice..........

1 1 Reply
Bhagabat Prasad Hotta 13 November 2018

Beautiful poem.. ....so nice poem......10++++++++++++

1 1 Reply

I appreciate your lines. Wonderful poem.

1 0 Reply
Tom Billsborough 24 October 2017

If only we could unwrap events in this way. So moving.

1 0 Reply
Bill Wright 22 April 2016

I have never thought of Carol Ann Duffy as a War Poet, but this is excellent.

5 1 Reply