Poetry about Poetry ... original or previously published poetry, March 2001
Wilfred Owen revisited
I won't forget the day my virgin eyes
laid rest upon the text which most decries
the lunacy which sends our young men off
to war. To fall, too soon, while fat men scoff
at protests hurled against their blatant lies.
Imagination leapt and then, recoiled,
as verse on verse described how lungs were boiled
by mustard gas sent creeping overland.
My teenage mind tried hard to understand
the need for countless deaths on foreign soil.
'Dulce et decorum est...' the poet said
in lines which haunt me still though I have read
much more since then. No-one else could touch him
for casting visions, nightmarish and grim
inside my thirsting, adolescent head.
Such potent might this poet wields , and yet,
the wars continue still with no regret.
Though older, I can no more comprehend
the situation now than I did then.
But Owen's words are ones I won't forget.