Wraith of War

Worn boots on frosted field
Holds life for man killed in battle.
Mind crazy with prattle,
His filled throat brattled up front
And center. He took brunt
Force while unit still hunt enemy.
They trudged mud the many
On a good luck penny and faith.
Downing every eighth,
They saw a pale man’s wraith of war.

The inspiration for this poem came from the photo Front and Center by Stephen Weaver.  Here's a link to Stephen Weaver's website if you would like to see more of his work. I couldn't adhere to the syllable count in only one line of this luc bat.

1 comment:

Naquillity said...

Mariacristina said...

War is a nightmare. The sounds and images of your poem recreate the destruction and waste very well. Words like prattle, battle, brattle remind me of sharp edges, brttleness, despair.

Wonderful job with a demanding form. I'm going to try more of these. What about you? Will you try it again?

Monday, April 21, 2008
Blogger Michelle Johnson said...

Christine, I don't know if I will try this again of not. Someday maybe.

Monday, April 21, 2008
Blogger paisley said...

wow.. another excellent foray into form... and the picture you sited was amazing too....

Monday, April 21, 2008
Blogger Greyscale Territory said...

That word "wraith" in the title haunts your poem beautifully, giving it both thematic substance and eeriness.


Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Anonymous watermaid said...

I just love the title and the last line where you combine it with 'pale man's'. You have indeed created a 'wraith of war'. I think this form is quite difficult. I kept finding that I wanted an extra syllable.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

July 5, 2008 at 8:48 AM