Steven Cooke Poems
Comments about Steven Cooke
(In memory of the 3 million horses killed in War)
Taken from Cloven fields,
Where skylark and Grouse Linger.
Into the bowels of a troopship
No scent of Morning Dew, No Bird song
Only sweat and urine,
And the distant sounds of war.
No light, no grass of home, only the whip.
For he is bound for Flanders field
His rider glorious in his regalia, sword in hand
He was his master now, and the horse’s salvation.
Kindness, a quiet word, an apple, their bond complete
His last feed, bathed in a red sun, which
Hovered above the morning mist hiding ...
The Silence Of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in