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This is one of my poems and is an award-winning one.The Guns of July“I am the grass.Let me work.” — Carl SandburgThe sheer cliffs above ocean roar Near Muir Beach Are dotted with gun emplacements, Cement and steel-plated half circles Buried deeply In the rocky sides. Giant, tall-stemmed yarrow and cowpen daisy, beach morningglory and hedge mustard, blue pod lupine andmonkeyflower, silver phacelinPush around them,Burrow into the soil that the wind and rain have slowlyDeposited onto the reinforced roofs.An occasional buzzardGlides slowly above these empty warnests,Searching, wondering. In the hollows of these relics, Civilians have tagged the back walls with names, With a heart and a cross or two, and with sly comments.Forlorn after fifty empty years, these gray cement mouths speak not. No plaque, marker, or seashore sign reflects a purpose. Their builders and the young watchers who manned them do not testify.The gulls ignore themAs do the brown pelicans who flap and then coast single filebut two feet above the blue waters below this day’s brilliant sky.The young men who watched there, big-cased shells at the ready,wake up gray, some white.Not a few are dead.This is good.Off across the wide PacificJungle tangle and roots have consumed the uniforms, the buried and unburied bones,Joined together with the salt and seaspray, relentleslydestroy the debris of war,Save perhaps a forgotten bulldozerOr one large wing from a downed fighter.Poppies have flourished for eight decades in therich blood of FlandersThe sands of Normandy sparkle in the Channel sun.Centuries hence earthquake and the relentless toiling waves willcrumble these Muir Beach bastions,These warnests,These constructs of man’s folly,Man’s fear.June, July 1994, May 1995

Detalhes do Produto

    • Ano de Edição: 2011
    • Ano:  2015
    • País de Produção: Canada
    • Código de Barras:  2000601662551
    • ISBN:  9781465794772

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