Poems of the Air War
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Poems of the Air War
Furrows into Silence
The Lancs have left; from Fenland skies
The clamour and the fret has gone.
Their crews and those who watched with anxious eyes
For homing kites are long departed.
Through roofless huts and fissured tarmac grow
The thrusting weeds
And there is little left to show
What once was here.
Nor should we grieve, or yearn
For what is past.
This place, designed for war, has served its turn
Let Nature now take back its own.
The ravages of age and time can not decay
The greater work.
These artefacts of steel and concrete pass away;
The deeds remain.
By Philip A. Nicholson
The Lancs have left; from Fenland skies
The clamour and the fret has gone.
Their crews and those who watched with anxious eyes
For homing kites are long departed.
Through roofless huts and fissured tarmac grow
The thrusting weeds
And there is little left to show
What once was here.
Nor should we grieve, or yearn
For what is past.
This place, designed for war, has served its turn
Let Nature now take back its own.
The ravages of age and time can not decay
The greater work.
These artefacts of steel and concrete pass away;
The deeds remain.
By Philip A. Nicholson
Join Date: Dec 1999
Location: UK
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War ain't nice, and arty poetry about it sometimes seems a little incongruous to me.
Go put "napalm sticks to kids" into your search engine for a more gritty version of the reality.
Or, on the other hand, don't, if you prefer the saccharine version of war...
It is, after all, war "poetry" too, is it not?
Go put "napalm sticks to kids" into your search engine for a more gritty version of the reality.
Or, on the other hand, don't, if you prefer the saccharine version of war...
It is, after all, war "poetry" too, is it not?
Last edited by Agaricus bisporus; 24th Jan 2010 at 21:00.
I live fairly adjacent to a WW2 airfield - every time I drive down the main runway (now a road) I spare several thoughts of 'what was then'. The poem encapsulates those thoughts perfectly ... thank you Hugh.
Agaricus bisporus
So the reality of war is unlikely to be lost on him, just as the irony of your sanctimonious advice appears lost on you.
For gross temerity you are sentenced to two years hard. Starting with the study of the lives and works of the poets of the First World War, those who made it home and those who were blown to bits. Should you re-offend you shall be strapped in a chair and forced to listen to recordings of the works of Sassoon, Owen and others of their stamp, a la 'A Clockwork Orange'.
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Don't worry, some of us have the kind of emotions, through our experiences to understand. I know, anyway, that the experiences I had during WW2 make me realise that many, many people still grieve over their loved ones but there are some who dismiss things too readily.
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Some great ones here:
Stories We Remember - Poems
Stories We Remember - Poems
