These eye’s now laid on natures wings
have seen the sum of hateful things,
enough that English Winter Skies
as Pale as death cannot disguise
the salty sorrow in a tear,
intrusive nightmares ever near.
An empty voice shocked free from words
which when it speaks is never heard.
Yet by the River from the hide
I saw a bird and almost cried,
as through its feathered curtain shone
a thousand faces dead and gone.
© Wolfgar 2019
Notes from life 
This was quite sad, but it’s beautiful. You have a great voice for your poetry. I was curious about that film. Rosamund Pike is an excellent actress. Is it worth the watch?
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Thanks w33, the film is excellent. I would recommend “In Extremis” by Lindsay Hilsum and the documentary film “Under the wire” both are to my mind preferable to “A Private War” which although a great piece of work doesn’t pack quite the same punch as the Book or the Documentary, it doesn’t cover all of the events exactly to the letter. The poem was inspired by events in my own life which were stirred again after watching the film and a peaceful venture into the English countryside…I found some of the depictions difficult to watch which indicated to me the quality of the story telling.
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You’re welcome… that reminds me of when I was in middle school and a couple WWII veterans came to our school and said they had a tough time watching the Normandy scene in “Saving Private Ryan.” Thank your sharing.
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This poem is stunning, David.
D
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Thanks Devon, you can see from my response to w33 where this came from. It came from a real place, I hope that comes across. I watched a Seamus Heaney documentary only yesterday in which Paul Muldoon said poetry should come from somewhere beyond the self…that struck me as a thoroughly brilliant description of where it should come from. Thanks again…
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Hello David, it absolutely does come across as a very real place and event. And this poem goes way beyond self and delves into the fleeting nature of things. It delves on the embrace of a moment and what that moment can stir within us.
D
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Here the layers of accumulated words seeking for solace are let go and we see the real core of a truth expressed with economy. What more can we ask for? Authentic, direct, moving, and the poem places itself in a position of calm appraisal backed up by bitter horror transmogrified. Superb mate.
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Some of your poems speak of things completely outside my experience. To me British troops on active service in Afghanistan, Serbia, Northern Ireland are simpy news items. The penny has dropped with me that British military action is done for me. I am part responsible – no point blaming Blair or anyone else. But it’s still remote from me. So poems like this one I find myself reading many times, and they stop me in my tracks and I think about each loss being a husband, son, father; how some memories must fester in the minds of guys who for one reason or other found themselves out there. This poem conveys the reality of it, simply and openly. You’re doing the right thing sharing your expereince, because we all aught to know.
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