scarf
e pluribus unium
by Halifax
there are wars
but not peaces
we oversleep
not sleep in
conflict is broken
into shared pieces
reciprocated in kind
until a full spread
has been laid out
peace is portrayed
in a field waving
like a picnic blanket
shaken free of crumbs
our keepsake flag
obscured by smoke
the break in grind
lets the blade rest
between a plurality
of wars without end
this constant peace
is a voracious idea
starved for attention
it smothers and eats
anyone that notices
before they can think
to call it by a name
One of the witty details I noticed in this clever piece was the correlation between the title “Scarf” (broken down to “scar”– scar/scarf -the wearing of pain. Which goes well with mankind’s need for war to avoid boredom, release his inner demons, express himself, and outright define himself. I admired the word play thru out the poem. E pluribus unium (a contortion of e pluribus Unum or “out of many–one”) translates loosely “out of many–Android app”. Or that’s my take at least. There’s a bunch of good lines here. My favorite is “we oversleep, not sleep in”. In any case, I get a sense of fatalism in reading about man’s nature pitted with nature itself. Bravo sir, bravo I say unto thee!
http://www.online-literature.com/tennyson/the-early-poems/120/
The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, “We are Free”;
The streams through many a lilied row,
Down-carolling to the crispèd sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, “We are free”.
[Greek: Oi Rheontes]
I
All thoughts, all creeds, all dreams are true,
All visions wild and strange;
Man is the measure of all truth
Unto himself. All truth is change:
All men do walk in sleep, and all
Have faith in that they dream:
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.
II
There is no rest, no calm, no pause,
Nor good nor ill, nor light nor shade,
Nor essence nor eternal laws:
For nothing is, but all is made.
But if I dream that all these are,
They are to me for that I dream;
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.
~
Tennyson
I wish i could be low-tinkled with a bell like flow.