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
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
Comment by Margot Harris on 25 December, 2015 at 8:35 amSublime.
Comment by Mark Jeffries on 25 December, 2015 at 12:29 pmThe 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.
Comment by Derek F. on 25 December, 2015 at 2:58 pmHow 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 . . .
Comment by jon anderson/Dark Horse Images on 27 December, 2015 at 3:51 amSaira 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.
Comment by Brian in Colorado on 31 December, 2015 at 3:05 pm