THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

THE SOUND OF DRIPPING, DRIPPING, DRIPPING

———–

THE SPEEDING ROUND

The speeding round

cheap hand cast metal

was hardly solid bound

in one piece together did fragments meld and loosely settle

and death with its single purpose flew

at then what the twilight shooter knew

and watched where it sought out a single

among those in innocence at dinner meal did sit and mingle

while death stalked among them found its prize

a score, a gain, a hit, found by and waited there within the shooter’s eyes

while in slowly downward dimming light

in a short and deadly quick jungle flight

over green heaped deep and in tangled layers

which lay upon the steep climb thick

and hid not from mortal danger

but rather exposed each youthful stranger

to the land held by they to defend at cost

and lives sure this night would be lost

in positions held while concealed the shooter had edged closer who

at patience lay and found the trick

and aimed for an open slice of un-tanned skin

between the guards which useless hung,

unzipped they without fault of their own let the splintered missile in

through skin not able to defend itself, past shattered ribs it broke into a lung

the body struck, the youth, the man then backwards fell

amid a spray of blood and sweat

then regained he lost footing but yet

staggered then stunned the victim stood

proud, angry beneath a waning sun while precious blood

stained his shirt and wet his hand

all lost for the sake of a piece of worthless land

clothed he in Marine Corps Green

but in safety naked before the surrounding wood

this youth so strong and lean

stood he to make his final stand

with anger as his guide and useless amour

he shouted out a challenge while

those about with eyes gone wide and wild in fear drug him down as the style

was to spot the danger by the flash and not attempt an open charge

for the contact area was hard to cross and quite large

the viper simply had to quiet lay

a snake it was there to stay

sleeping

if snakes do sleep at all

until darkness came, he was forced to idle stay

then slowly crept himself away

and yet as darkness came upon them all

while some men prayed

they all were stayed

and the marine again picked himself up from where he fell

————–he picked himself up

—————————–from where he fell

and stood there blood running, foaming from the wound like a broken cup

unable to stop itself from coming, from frothy bubbly filling the lung

————-he picked himself up

——————–from where he fell

and shouted out across the green

and challenged the shooter to stand and fight

him one to one with all his might

as his brother’s hands reached up into the scene

and tried to drag him to the ground

for only there might life stay safe and sound

—————but he picked himself up

he picked himself up

from where he fell

and then the knowing tell

the knowing mournful tell

of dripping, dripping, dripping

the sound of dripping, dripping, dripping.

Copy Write Gordon Kuhn June 28, 2010