Last Orders – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

News cycle filters through the pictures again,
muted buzz of static from the back of the set
perched high above an empty bar,
upturned stools kicked up like drunk legs.

Cigarette burnt low he flicks the butt wide,
watches it sail, scatter ash, splutter in the sink,
tap drip, dripping in that constant aching manner
of fists drumming against windows caving in.

Could comment on the old school tactics,
another plague, a new spin on the old classic.
Some times the old tricks do work best,
even if they stop short of razing it all to dust.

Tonight we are being challenged to write War Poetry, which immediately brings back memories of studying Wilfred Owen’s Selected Poems for A Level English Lit. However, war is something that always seems to exist somewhere at any point in history, and all too often conflict is much closer than we would like to believe.

8 Comments

  1. You make an excellent point, Carol, war is something that always seems to exist somewhere at any point in history, and conflict is often closer than we would like to believe. Your poem conveys this so well. I like the opening stanza that sets the scene perfectly – most of our knowledge of war comes from the news, which exaggerates the distance – and then the way you zoom in on the character in the second stanza.

  2. I think there is no place to avoid war… it’s in the heart of us, and it’s pushed through the newscycle and into fists and hearts… love the way you captured the depressing scene with the focus on the cigarette.

  3. Excellent imagery here, Carol. I was most struck by these words “upturned stools kicked up like drunk legs.” What a great use of words to describe the scene.

  4. Stunning, stunning imagery in this one that conveys perfectly that war exists and is of many kinds.

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