I nailed the title on the first go-round.
Results of Matrix poetry workshop, May 9, 2007. This actually isn’t
an April poem-a-day project. I’ll get to those at some point.
Thanks to Joe and Jesse for excellent feedback,
and to Tanya Tucker for the title.
Before...
In a Field of Stone
He made ammunition for the war
and tested each bomb come down
the line with the softest hammer
he had. Two kids in college,
one on the front lines, and never
did anyone question his accuracy,
his craftsmanship and attention to detail.
Where the seams were riveted
he tapped, and then nodded
at the perfect note. Anything sour
caused him to step back onto
a kill switch unlatching the conveyor
belt trapdoor that dropped
the missile down to the reject basement.
His eyes grew wide the last time,
when his hammer brought a response
he had never heard before.
His college kids protested him.
His soldier boy cried for him.
But in the end his funeral
was like all others, like the war.
Some gathered and some stayed put
but the whole town knew of the tragedy.
And then his casket dropped
through the green-carpeted bay
and into the quiet, innocent earth.
_________________________________________
After...
In a Field of Stone
He tested each bomb come down
the line with the softest hammer
he had. Two kids in college,
one on the front lines. Never
did anyone question his accuracy,
his craftsmanship and faith.
Where the seams were riveted
he tapped, and then nodded
at the perfect note.
Anything sour caused him to step back
onto a kill switch unlatching
the trapdoor that dropped
the missile down to the reject basement.
His eyes grew wide the last time,
when his hammer brought a response
he had never heard before.
His college kids protested him.
His little soldier cried for him.
In the end his funeral
was like all others. Like the war.
Some gathered and some stayed put
but the whole town learned of the tragedy
and then his casket dropped
through the green-carpeted bay
and into the quiet, innocent earth.
an April poem-a-day project. I’ll get to those at some point.
Thanks to Joe and Jesse for excellent feedback,
and to Tanya Tucker for the title.
Before...
In a Field of Stone
He made ammunition for the war
and tested each bomb come down
the line with the softest hammer
he had. Two kids in college,
one on the front lines, and never
did anyone question his accuracy,
his craftsmanship and attention to detail.
Where the seams were riveted
he tapped, and then nodded
at the perfect note. Anything sour
caused him to step back onto
a kill switch unlatching the conveyor
belt trapdoor that dropped
the missile down to the reject basement.
His eyes grew wide the last time,
when his hammer brought a response
he had never heard before.
His college kids protested him.
His soldier boy cried for him.
But in the end his funeral
was like all others, like the war.
Some gathered and some stayed put
but the whole town knew of the tragedy.
And then his casket dropped
through the green-carpeted bay
and into the quiet, innocent earth.
_________________________________________
After...
In a Field of Stone
He tested each bomb come down
the line with the softest hammer
he had. Two kids in college,
one on the front lines. Never
did anyone question his accuracy,
his craftsmanship and faith.
Where the seams were riveted
he tapped, and then nodded
at the perfect note.
Anything sour caused him to step back
onto a kill switch unlatching
the trapdoor that dropped
the missile down to the reject basement.
His eyes grew wide the last time,
when his hammer brought a response
he had never heard before.
His college kids protested him.
His little soldier cried for him.
In the end his funeral
was like all others. Like the war.
Some gathered and some stayed put
but the whole town learned of the tragedy
and then his casket dropped
through the green-carpeted bay
and into the quiet, innocent earth.