© From many places, speaking truth and making magic happen


 






















Susan Seddon-Boulet, Artist

(snippet from a painting)



by David Evans

Nine Hundred Canteens

Big guns
shake earth beneath
cordite fog
that fills
soul void.

Three days
without nights
without end
machines rain
death
on poets
entangled in wire

Exploded body bits
red wet clouds and flesh
counted by canteens.

As limos vomit gowns
and black ties
whisked to ballroom stage
Oscar shines
basks in worship light
of those
who care nothing
of canteens.

    (A poem I penned in memory of an event in early July 1967,
    when a count of North Vietnamese canteens was necessary.)


 

At the Sea

Cool sand still damp from morning mist
warming now by early sun.
Gulls breakfast in receding tide
sharing kinship with the waves
that draw me back to primal roots
embedded in the sea.


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