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Poetry Magnum Opus

Tomorrow, maybe


dedalus

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(for my friend, Paco)

 

The dead talk to you

at moments when you don’t

want to listen, often

 

in whispers during the daytime

and with shouts and screams

in recurring nightmares.

 

That boy who went to war

came home as a broken shell

but I think that hell

 

is not restricted. I think

that similar feelings in their way

plague other people every day.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Clear, frank, objective. I like the interspersed rhymes. Paco, thy amigo, should be pleased you took the time.

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Stay out of my head, you tater hooligan. Other than that, you're a kind man, and I promise to stop writing about carnage, but I will always hate the politicos and chicken hawks. Thank you for the thoughts.

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After some thought, and reading again Brendan's last verse, I must agree. I know how fortunate I am when I visit Walter Reed or VA hospitals. As Bren said, even people who lead what we think of as "normal" lives, suffer within. We all have our own devils and angels. The reality that most people don't understand, is that what happens with our minds in moments of trauma, is that the effects are not from personal choice. As far as I know, the trauma is irreversible, not something you can be talked out of. If so, I would probably be a likable person. Yeah, right.

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Thank you, Bren, for the "Ode de Paco." You put me in my place. To DCMart: I no longer visit the hospitals. I realized that I did myself more harm, than any favor for those wounded. DC, if you ever want to "have lunch," let me know. Luray is a nice place to visit.

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Well written as usual Brendan. Easy flow with words of wisdom. "Trauma" is usually never someones choice but it does come in many shapes and sizes. It leaves an indellible footprint on us. Each has to find their own way of dealing with it.

 

~~Tink

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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  • 3 weeks later...
  • 4 weeks later...
David W. Parsley

Bren, this is quite a good poem. The more compelling lyric effects are in the opening stanzas, capturing response to trauma in a kind of full-fleshed portraiture. But no, this is not a portrait, but a landscape on which to paint the concluding lines, no, wrong again, the conclusion shows all as a slice from the broader human condition, some colors more brilliant or searing than others. I am not sure that the poem needed to be a 'dedicated' poem, but that does bring more emotion for those who have come to know something of our gifted Paco.

 

Thank You

- Dave

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The worst part is you can't remember their names as the years go by. A few nicknames come through, but who were they really? You never forget the faces. See them in Heaven, I suppose, or more likely the Other Place. I hope the Devil allows us an occasional pint of Guiness.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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