Flowers of War

 

 flowers of war

Vasily Vereshchagin : Desert War Pic

 

 

 

Pink and blue the paradise hue of weeping flowers on dust grit dunes

They wait in vain for soldiers names  bleeding bile and collateral shame

Blackened palm trees

Ooze  sweat and grief

As children scream for democracy

And  pomegranate blossoms stain desert sands

While  allied forces bomb the land

 

Star shaped blooms with leaves of green

And fragrant petals of silken cream

Await their fate with shrunken pride

As rocket launchers seize the night

Purple, Iris, Lotus Rose

Sliced  on  Kodak with mangled  toes

And tulips spiked with canon fire

Leave belly guts in makeshift pyres

 

 Juniper, date, and pin wheel buds

Stung  with shrapnel – clotted with mud

And from the scabbing surface  shell

The charred cinder spark of a  dead man’s smell

 

Cluster plants sprayed with oil

Guerrilla triggers clip the soil

Petals bruised, now scored  with hate

Swollen clouds seeping  rain

And with the morning dew comes love

Electric sunlight and turtle doves

Singing chords of hope and peace

A wall of flowers in  perfect unity

 

Saira Viola


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5 Responses to Flowers of War

  1. Margot Harris says:

    I am simply struck numb by the painful imagery of this poem. The palms ‘sweating’ with grief and the ‘swollen clouds seeping rain’ the horrendous effects of war are all too obvious so why don’t people stop these bloody wars. Can I purchase this poem somewhere ? Not heard of this writer before . This poem has made me weep for the soul of mankind . Yeah happy christmas

  2. Mark Jeffries says:

    Sublime.

  3. Derek F. says:

    The old axiom “War Is Hell” is tired and faded into trite cliche, Viola brings War to your modern day screen and paints it in no uncertain terms and in all it’s murderous viscera.

  4. jon anderson/Dark Horse Images says:

    How does one convey the meaning, the feeling, the visual and tangible reality of war in words? Even photojournalists — whose medium is about as “real” as you can get — worry about the impact of their imagery and whether it manages to convey the visceral reality of what they witness, or just contributes to a deadening of our sensibilities. Many of the best witnesses resort to an oblique perspective, but some artists — like Goya — rub our noses in the sadism, cruelty, and absurdity of war — and they succeed where Hollywood, CNN, and videocams fail. Viola seems to be in Goya’s camp, but with a dash of the surreal. The idea of using flowers as a controlling metaphor, signifying, on one hand, the mangled bodies and bleeding pomegranate stains on the battlefield and, on the other, the regenerative powers of nature, the viewpoint of eternity, strikes me as a brilliant means of grasping the ironies of conflict, while crossing the tightrope hoisted between hope and despair. Viola’s forté is striking language, unusual juxtapositions, and a kind of synesthesia that brings all the senses into play. This is the kind of poetry that cries out for recitation. It’s a jeremiad for the Digital End of Days, and like the “weeping prophet” Viola’s voice should ring in our ears as we wander the cyber wastelands away from our homelands . . .

  5. Saira Viola’s style is creative, thoughtful, and original. The world of poetry is filled with so many forced metaphors where they don’t fit in, and the same old tired metaphors. I read the poetry shared here and I automatically want more like this. Poetry that speaks about social issues is what moves me, and the efforts of Saira Viola does just that. Saira has observed the world around her with a keen eye, she has something to say about it, and she expresses herself in a way that captures the readers imagination.

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