The Sounds of the Soldier's Toys
Little man
Sweet joy of my eyes
you cry out
gasp in surprise
in wonder and in delight
the sounds of the bombs
the big green, grey, grimy, greasy guns
the thump thumpety thump bumpety bump
rumbling thrump of unnatural thunder
rolling reverberating through pregnant skies
of the soldier's toy's
effects of sound
and you
little man
sit and grin and giggle
in the wonder of happy naive joy.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Returned | 0 | 06/10/2010 |
| One Week to Go | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| Have You? | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| Little Boy and a Tank | 2 | 05/28/2009 |
| The Sounds of the Soldier's Toys | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| You Run Now | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| At 6AM from Afghanistan | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| "For a Day" | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| "Salvation" from, For Anton #7 | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
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