we’re hardened by this cordite smell
as perfumes of the roses wilt
from burials a constant knell
we’re hardened by this cordite smell
when driving on this road to hell
we cannot quench our nagging guilt
we’re hardened by this cordite smell
as perfumes of the roses wilt

image source
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Linked to Real Toads Open Link
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September 29, 2014
One can’t help but being helpless by the sheer insistence to propagate conflicts. The torrid smell of clashes are just intolerable. Great lines Bjorn!
Hank
A poem torn right from the headlines. And I love the video–it speaks to me.
Bjorn, I hope we never take wars and horrible loss of life for granted. —Susan
We must raise our voices, get off this road to hell, and smell roses again.
Bravo! This is an excellent triolet for our times – a blend of classical mood and torrid times.
Your blend current events with poetic form seamlessly, Bjorn. Nicely done.
ugh. would not be fun to be on one of those roads…a sitting duck to mortar…and perhaps one day we will find a better route than shelling the hell out of people…
I can smell it. I can hear it. I can feel my nose and mouth feel with dust and fumes… and regardless of how many times it happens, and how many justifications are offered, I still can’t make sense of it. It doesn’t make natural sense.
Hardened, to bear it, but also coarsened and made less, in the end. The form’s repetition here is a like a bell tolling for everything we lose when we play this game. I particularly like the lack of punctuation, as if to say ‘the rules are not in force here..’.
There is a sense of petrifaction in this hardening–the form works so well here==it brings up the endless quality of all of this, around and around. Thanks, Bjorn. k.
Excellent use of form. I say, holding a dead rose, yesssssssssss.
nice contrast in this… there’s hope in that rose
deep and powerful! love the rhyme and repetitiveness… really makes one understand the emphasis of the dead rose, the guilt, the road to hell!
stacy lynn mar
http://warningthestars.blogspot.com/
Wow! Another awesome triolet – a form (that I personally find has a haunting quality to it). In this case, it imparts an eerie, almost dirge-like chant to the piece, that suits the subject well.