PLUGSTREET WIPERS/PLOEGSTEERT YPRES (WW1)

It were called Ploegsteert , by the locals
We Tommys , called it Plugstreet

A town of Armenitieres , a sweet Mademoiselle
We sang of lived there , close by

Before we and with Germans arivde
It was heavily wooded , must of look lovely
I suppose be for the fooking war!

By the time the artillery had had started it
Rearranging mother nature design and plan
Of Her Woods

After not so long , when the guns get to work
Nowt stays the save ever again
Soon the branches are cleave
By red hot shrapnel , trees blown up by H E
Blackened by fires , tree trunks riddled by countless bullets

Deckroated with bodys of soldiers theres and ours
Hung up by shells , tossing them up in to remaining arms
Of the trees of Plugstreet

Ken D Williams
The Dyslexic Wordsmith



Poetry by ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 638 times
Written on 2014-03-03 at 18:56

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Jeffrey Z Rothstein
Ken,
You've captured something really quirky and personal in a grim situation--a vernacular expression of the unspeakable.
The image of men, "Hung up by shells, tossing them into remaining arms/of the trees of Plugstreet, recalls scenes and pictures of what is sometimes referred to as RTI (Response To Impact), where the forces of bombs and shells literally blows soldiers and civilians into strange contortions and pretzel shapes. I prefer the way you said it: it returns their humanity to them.
Well done.
2014-03-04


Nabeela Altaf
A bit Roald Dahl-ish. Melancholy.
2014-03-04