Why fight it? The cause is lost,
They’ll talk until exhausted,
An exchange of words, wires crossed,
All reason has been thwarted.
Empty thoughts spent of use,
Incessantly dispersed,
Canons of conversation let loose,
Loaded barrels burst.
Incenduries of scattered thought,
collateral damage hits hard,
What remains is the odd retort
The word weary, and the prattle scarred.
. It’s blood that’s shed, in fields of war,
. It’s not what’s said, that yields the score.

© Tim Grace, 10 December 2010

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To the reader: A barrage of words; an incessant round of scattered thoughts … prattle lines are drawn! As a prisoner of words it’s sometimes impossible to withdraw or retreat from the field of discussion; you’re good and captured – well snared. Escape is unlikely, outlasting the word attack is a matter or patience; it will pass but just not soon.

To the poet:  The play of combative terms was the thrill of this kill. There’s an element of nonsense poetry in the technique. Twisted and contorted phrases are close enough to real to comfortably carry double-barrel meanings. When playing with words the ‘play’ needs to be convincing and controlled; so the aim is steady and the target sure.

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