Poetry Thursday 65 - Fallen

 It is the time of year that we remember those who have died as a result of war. Particularly, poignant this year with what is happening in the Middle East and Ukraine. 

The Fallen

 

The perpetual warrior but never his fault,

he was there cos’ he needed work,

took the King's shilling for a pinch of salt,

became the pawn of any artful jerk.

 

As required he delivered and died,

he battled and fought as was commanded,

but no matter how hard he fought and strived,

the soldier's precious life sadly ended.

 

So we gather to show final respect,

and give thanks for their curtailed living, 

hoping the belated feelings reflect,

appropriate depth for their dying.

 

We should try our best every November,

To give a gift selflessly - and remember.

© David L Atkinson November 2024 

God Bless 

Writing - Interpretation

 The time of year for self-indulgence has already begun for me. I have bought and wrapped some Christmas presents, accepted a Christmas invitation and started reading A Christmas Carol. The last item is an oft-repeated activity at this time of year. I was inspired to write about Interpretation by a song and a conversation with my daughter. 

To begin with, it must be said that I have seen several versions of Dickens' great work ranging from cartoons, to Alistair Sims, to modern versions (eg. Scrooged) and even an American Ebenezer. Each presentation has its own interpretation and I wonder which the author would have preferred? Whichever, without the almost 200 year old story there would be no interpretation. 

The issue of interpretation is particularly important in poetry and art. In fact, it could be argued that the subject of Literature is almost exclusively founded upon interpretation and as such is subject to personal taste. I once argued up a grade from C- to B, on that premise. In producing art/literature it is necessary to accept that others will take your work and put on their own spin. It takes a mind that steps outside the box to produce work which is enigmatic, but to make interpretations you need to step away from norms and accept there are different ways of understanding meanings. 

What was Banksy saying when he had 'The Girl with the Balloon' start shredding itself the moment it was sold?

I have written hundreds of poems on a myriad of subjects and a plethora of styles, but very few I would describe as beautiful. An acquaintance used that very word last week. 

The song that spawned this piece was Blackbird by The Beatles, and I leave you with some lyrics, 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly

Blackbird fly

Into the light of a dark, black night 

God Bless