War Poetry in the NY Times
A few months ago, Nicholas Kristof asked for readers to send in war poems. He's published some of them in tomorrow's column.
I'm a poet by trade, and while these are certainly not the same quality as Wilfred Owen of Siegfried Sassoon, they are certainly worth reading.
Here's the first one he posts.
Tim Johnson of Northville, Minn., wrote:
Outside the city, shivering with dread,
We're Falluja bound.
Can hear the explosions when I raise my head. . . .
Foreign soldiers, invaders from another land;
When I look through the hatred in their eyes,
I almost understand.
R.P.G.'s, mortars, and friends dead on the road.
My youth is gone,
Crushed from sensory overload.
Assaulted yesterday up an Iraqi street.
R.P.G. explosion, a scream,
Seared my face with the heat.
Dragged him through the blood-streaked dust and dirt,
His screams in my ears,
His blood type tagged to his shirt.
Covered with blood, he cried, Don't leave me alone.
Died in my arms;
Now I just want to go home.
Officers yelling, Get out of your holes!
We're Falluja bound;
Please pray for our souls.
There are more in the column and even more at Kristof's blog.
Someone want to ask Limbaugh if he thinks Tim Johnson is a "gentle little [flower] wilting in the breeze"?