Horst Faas/AP
By
Paul Summers
Flowers of Evil
grey dusk congealed
& gentleness in hiding.
through trembling veils
the truth will mourn itself.
all evil exists in the detail
of its sanction. all hatred
borne of avarice & fear
erupts in blooms quotidian
& sublime. our clamour
for freedom making slaves
of us all. & ask the quiet dead
where terror makes its lair:
in bud dajo, in dresden’s flames,
within the breath of my lai’s
cordite smog, in hiroshima’s
melted time, in beit hanoun,
in badajoz & hama or jallianwala
bagh, fort pillow or saltville,
at wounded knee, on the road
to rumaila paved with ill-intent.
a litany replete were ink as free
as idling speech purports to be.
i.m. ibrahim dawawsa
only the minutes
only their distance
to separate survivors
from the dead
a courtyard strewn
with shrapnel petals
a skin of pale dust
as mute as snow
her losses expounded
in each bloody archipelago
only the minutes
only their distance
to demarcate
our hemispheres
to fashion the schism
between hatred & guilt
to furnish these clouds
with absolute burden
their weight aligning
in perfect storms
nice i enjoyed your poetry
Nice Article.
very nice potery