Bullets from Bones

“Indifference, Year of Peril, 1944” by Thomas Hart Benton

 

we are that species

who numbers cadavers

more wardead than

died-in-their-sleep

since antiquity more

bloody years rent with

combat or suffering

siege than at peace

knowing war begets

war we make beautiful

bullets from bones

to recycle their valor

reconstitute sacrifice

crumbled in graves

of both soldiers and

citizens lost in the

billows of battle-fog

all of which pale against

whole populations

entire generations

erased by the wickedly

punishing sword

flame or slavemaker’s

brandiron victory often

takes into its hands

asserting its dubious

rights of immoral

barbaric revenge

oh the genocides

staining each century

back through prehistory

utter depravity

strangling humanity

with our pretensions

to power that mock

the theology vested

in principled ethics of

jus bellum iustum

we know the right

thing yet continue

continue continue

to do what we know

to be wrong leaving

open for all our black

bloodied millennia

questions of whether

or not our apparent

intractable flaws

are perfectible

 

 

 

From my books Bullets from Bones and Legacies (vol. 1)

Bullets From Bones

“War Hero” by Laura Barbosa

 

we are that species
who numbers cadavers
more wardead than
died-in-their-sleep
since antiquity more
bloody years rent with
combat or suffering
siege than at peace
knowing war begets
war we make beautiful
bullets from bones
to recycle their valor
reconstitute sacrifice
crumbled in graves
of both soldiers and
citizens lost in the
billows of battle-fog
all of which pale against
whole populations
entire generations
erased by the wickedly
punishing sword
flame or slavemaker’s
brandiron victory often
takes into its hands
asserting its dubious
rights of immoral
barbaric revenge
oh the genocides
staining each century
back through prehistory
utter depravity
strangling humanity
with our pretensions
to power that mock
the theology vested
in principled ethics of
jus bellum iustum
we know the right
thing yet continue
continue continue
to do what we know
to be wrong leaving
open for all our black
bloodied millennia
questions of whether
or not our apparent
intractable flaws
are perfectible

Broken Idols

“Broken Idol” by Ralph Wickiser

 

tragic are the heroes

who succumb to the light

the revealing bright truth

of assiduous time

head and shoulders

perceived pure of gold

breast ennobled of silver

brass waist legs of iron

poor flawed feet of clay

thus do kingdoms

divide themselves

unto their fall

Confession

“Confessions of Pastel Blue Moons”
Painting by Kazuya Akimoto
From art365.joeuser.com

the fates have been
both kind and cruel
but then so have I

my lot seems on par
no more and no less
than I surely deserve

to improve it would need
me be more often kind
but the math may not work

for the world appears
quite the more filled with
those earned of my wrath

I am not enough holy
to turn aside evil with
love and forgiveness

and so must I settle for
a life of mixed blessings
in pride of my conscience

my hands will forever
form warm open palms
or firm punishing fists

all depends on the minds
that I meet and the content
of character wanting a judge

yet I know that my own
moral hubris is more
than entitles a man

therein lies my deep flaw
the singular weakness
afflicting my soul

I can’t help but react
to the right and the wrong
that surround me

if my joys and distress are
unbalanced they are at least
honest and answerable

when my judgment arrives
I’ll accept and endure all its
consequence free of regret

* * * * *

“Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere.” – G K Chesterton