Who'll Wash The Dishes

[billy]

Three thousand knives
along with other silverware
lay strewn across the battlefield
like bodies waiting to be mourned
burnt pots and pans
proud soiled spoils of war
lay to waste in no mans land
where pretty little picture tiles
with scenes of rustic
farm yard life, now spattered
in the culinary aftermath
bear witness
to the casualties
of my creative
cooking urge

[Aish]

Three thousand knives
along with other silverware
lay strewn across the battlefield
like bodies waiting to be mourned The first four lines are enigmatic.
burnt pots and pans
proud soiled spoils of war Up to point I thought you were setting us up for a look at domestic war: i.e. 'I cooked, you clean up', or something along those lines.
lay to waste in no mans land
where pretty little picture tiles
with scenes of rustic
farm yard life, now spattered
in the culinary aftermath
bear witness
to the casualties
of my creative
cooking urge Very cute.

[kath3]

Excellent ... funny ... completely imaginable
Good one billy!

[billy]

thanks Aish and Kath

[addy]

LOL... it reads so well as a war poem . I love the part where you juxtaposed cute images of the rural farmyard with whatever butchery happened in the kitchen, in a tongue in cheek kind of way. Nicely done

[billy]

thanks addy.

[Wildcard]

This is very clever, Billy. It reminds me of a parody I wrote when I was eleven called 'The Dishwashing Marines' set to the tune of The 'Marine's Hymn' I hated doing those damn dishes.

[billy]

Thanks mark,
dig it out and get it up (the poem i mean)

[Wildcard]

dig it out and get it up (the poem i mean)

[bogpan]

Very good poem by a man cooking that will help a woman. Great is the use of silverware, instead of the ordinary, which is prompting the essence of lyrical hero. Light nostalgia for the happy past is
very nice moment while longing for the future brings. Hopefully a future.

[billy]

thanks for the comment bogpan

[Ca ne fait rien]

Three thousand knives
along with other silverware
lay strewn across the battlefield
like bodies waiting to be mourned
burnt pots and pans
proud soiled spoils of war
lay to waste in no mans land
where pretty little picture tiles
with scenes of rustic
farm yard life, now spattered
in the culinary aftermath
bear witness
to the casualties
of my creative
cooking urge

For this reader, what you have done here is enhanced the horrors of war and warmongers by coating it with the veneer of the every day kind of domestic trivia. It is brilliant. In the aftermath of battle, it is the things like the knives and forks and the odd child's shoe that define life and death. Actually, the more often I read this poem, the more it gives me goosebumps. 'Gay Paree' was not exactly what most of those farm boys saw, was it. It's up there with the centenary coming up, Billy, and I would not alter a thing in it. If there is anything with rough edges poetically-wise, it only adds to it.

---

Or then again, maybe I am reading too much into it ,

[Aish]

I very much like Ca ne fait rien's interpretation. Mundane objects with battle scars and the real story. Very astute.

I have held empty leather shoes, pieces of prison cloth, a salvaged scroll from Kristallnacht, and a few other so-called artifacts from the holocaust as well as helped clean up a town wiped a tornado wiped off the map (Carrier, OK). It is an experience I really can't articulate, hits so deeply words are inadequate, but the soul never forgets.

[abu nuwas]

For my money, it reads well, yet it seems that it could have been two poems, with the first part serious, and about war; after all, when the battle is over, all sorts of detritus and rubbish is left.

[billy]

---

Or then again, maybe I am reading too much into it ,

to the reader the spoils
what you take is what's right, i liked your interpretation of it. thank you

[billy]

For my money, it reads well, yet it seems that it could have been two poems, with the first part serious, and about war; after all, when the battle is over, all sorts of detritus and rubbish is left.

after reading all the feedback, i think you have a good point abu, busy as heck now, but whe i get the time i'll look at it. thanks for the feedback.

---

thank for the comment Aish. i went to belsen many years ago and the area leaves an indelible impression on people who visit there, me included.

[abu nuwas]

I very much like Ca ne fait rien's interpretation. Mundane objects with battle scars and the real story. Very astute.

I have held empty leather shoes, pieces of prison cloth, a salvaged scroll from Kristallnacht, and a few other so-called artifacts from the holocaust as well as helped clean up a town wiped a tornado wiped off the map (Carrier, OK). It is an experience I really can't articulate, hits so deeply words are inadequate, but the soul never forgets.

Crikey! I once had to deal with the affairs of a woman who had been through it -- though mysteriously she and her husband had got out of the camps, and come to England.

I big envelope or parcel arrived, and when I emptied it on my desk, there were just such articles --- but the one which stood out, as I handled it, was a rough-hewn 'J' with coarse rope, to be worn around the neck. It is v curious how affecting an object can be.