Harvest

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A friend of mine works for Handicap International; today he posted an article on Cluster Bombs which inspired me to pen the following poem.

As a veteran of a number of wars I have seen the effect of mines and other ordinance which litter the ground long after wars have been fought and ‘won’, (as if anyone can truly win a war).

I strongly believe that these weapons should be condemned by every nation on the planet and I would like to see the manufacture and use of such hideous weapons stopped permanently.

Unfortunately big money and a reluctance to enhance and enforce laws banning them means that their continued use, particularly in the fields of poorer nations, will lead to innocent people being maimed and killed.

Clearance of such ordinance often falls to self-help and / or charities such as Handicap International and the Mines Awareness Trust. I would encourage you to support these organisations.

Harvest

The grass grew tall this year.
Shadows flow like waves
across it’s golden heads,
as a warm breeze passes.

The hay crop’s lost this year.
Shadows cross his face,
across his sun tanned face.
As a deep frown passes

The war passed by this year.
Shadows flashed above,
the compound left in ruin
the field fallow evermore.

For the crop changed this year.
seed pods scattered wide,
hidden amidst the grass
hanging around to harvest.

The grass grew tall this year.
Shadows flow like waves
He’ll have to plant next year
as a warm breeze passes.

John Carré Buchanan
17 August 2012