Sunday Poetry: Laura Oliver
On the Eve of Remembrance
Into Iraq I dare not go
Where there are bodies, row upon row
That line the streets; and in the sky
The larks, shot down, can no longer fly
Loud blasts shot from guns below.
We insult the dead, by roaming low
They lived, died, fought a true foe
Loved and were loved, and now we tromp
On Flanders fields.
Invent a reason to quarrel with a foe
To Bush, angry fists we throw
The torch of freedom and peace is nigh
If we only see the truth through the lie
We cannot sleep, because poppies stir
In Flanders fields
Laura Oliver on Nov. 10, 2004
(This poem was published at War Poetry.)
Into Iraq I dare not go
Where there are bodies, row upon row
That line the streets; and in the sky
The larks, shot down, can no longer fly
Loud blasts shot from guns below.
We insult the dead, by roaming low
They lived, died, fought a true foe
Loved and were loved, and now we tromp
On Flanders fields.
Invent a reason to quarrel with a foe
To Bush, angry fists we throw
The torch of freedom and peace is nigh
If we only see the truth through the lie
We cannot sleep, because poppies stir
In Flanders fields
Laura Oliver on Nov. 10, 2004
(This poem was published at War Poetry.)
posted by Diane at 3:55 PM
1 Comments:
Ha! Just for fun, I googled my name today and I find my poem somewhere else...cool! Glad you liked it enough to re-post! Cheers!
Laura Oliver
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