Runnymede

[dafydd manton]

Runnymede.


Eighteen years old,
Fur-clad yet frozen,
Looking in to a sea of flames
Yet shivering.
Fear.
Not scared of dying
But of being maimed.
Fear of the guns down below.
Fear of what his bombs might do.
Hannover burned.
You could smell it from 28,000 feet.
He shivered, shifted his weight.
Peering through his bomb-sight,
Release button in his hand,
Gripped.
He thought he saw a church in the cross-wires.
He delayed, then closed his eyes,
Pressed the button,
Screamed "Bombs Gone",
Ripped off his mask,
Vomited.

Unseen in the darkness,
A lone nightfighter curved in,
Fired just once.....................

[hillwalker]

This left me breathless..... vivid and chilling in equal measure.

[dafydd manton]

Thanks Hill. That one and The Man in The White Kid Gloves have been floating around in the darker recesses of my mind for over 25 years. Both were originally spawned whilst living on Air Force stations, probably in the middle of the night. The imagination plays tricks! Still not sure if the serious stuff is my forte, though!!

[PrinceMyshkin]

On the evidence of this one and the White Kid Gloves one, serious stuff might not be your preference but when you choose to do it (may I say "damn" here?) damn well. This is a fine narrative poem with a shocking conclusion.

[dafydd manton]

You know, Prince, this was one of ones where the finger hovers over the "Submit" button for ages. I'm almost frightened what a monster I've come up with. (Also, my wife absolutely hated it! "Morose", she said!) Maybe I'm starting to get blood in my alcohol stream!

[PrinceMyshkin]

You know, Prince, this was one of ones where the finger hovers over the "Submit" button for ages. I'm almost frightened what a monster I've come up with. (Also, my wife absolutely hated it! "Morose", she said!) Maybe I'm starting to get blood in my alcohol stream!

Lemme have a brief word with your wife, please...

[dafydd manton]

There is no such thing as a "brief" word with Mrs M!

[Jerrybaldy]

You take some convincing of the merits of your serious pieces Daffy Duck. I'm sure there was a lot of you in this one. Missing the church and hitting the orphanage seems to be a metaphor for so much.
cheers mate
Jerry wotsit

[dafydd manton]

Thanks, Chum. Don't think it was a metaphor - I was just being macabre!! *Evil chuckle* Joling aside, I really did have serious reservations about this. Was it going over the top? It just followed on from "The Man In The White Kid Gloves", which I was a lot happier with. Thanks for the compliment, though - always appreciated.

[Bar22do]

The Long Reach remains for now my preferred poem by you... it conveys (it brilliantly imposes!) an acute awareness of solitude and vulnerability of feelings, while it discloses some of your genuine romanticism though controlled. It's well balanced.
Its final question-lines:

"Was that a fingertip,
or merely a pasing wish?"

oddly (for the subject is so different) connect with your new poem, as if here too, the reach were long and the outcome unknown...

but, I think that you slightly overdid this one: IMO, you insist too much that the guy feels sick, then vomits, the final lines spoil the suspense by telling that which one feared could happen to the young fighter... (I'd suggest you finish your poem at "fired just once"); furthemore, choosing the "orphanage" is not subtle enough and reads as if fishing for pathos.

But this said, the subject is always of actuality, alas! I felt for the young man and yes, it's a morose poem altogether, though its context justifies moroseness...

Hope you don't mind sharing my thoughts directly, but please feel free to toss, for like all else, they are relative and their value questionable.

Best from me - Bar

[dafydd manton]

Do you know, Bar, your thoughts actually highlighted was I was unhappy with, but I couldn;t work out what. It is a bit too brutal, a bit too Gung-Ho. I shall change it, and I remain forever in your debt. Thanks

[PrinceMyshkin]

There is no such thing as a "brief" word with Mrs M!

Well then, let me have a long silence, listening to her.

[Jerrybaldy]

Preferred as it was Daffy. War too brutal ????

[dafydd manton]

No - just the poem! Having studied WW2 aviation, and particularly the Bomber war, and having lived in Berlin and very near Hannover, I know a bit too much about it for comfort. If I went for it flat out, I'd probably make myself sick. (Anyway, the orphanage would have been empty - they'd have been in the Luftschutzraum!)

[Delta40]

god man are you waking in the middle of a yorkshire summer, drenched in sweat, tangled in your sheets feeling like your heart will race so fast it will come to a sudden stop?

[Bar22do]

Runnymede.


Eighteen years old,
Fur-clad yet frozen,
Looking in to a sea of flames
Yet shivering.
Fear.
Not scared of dying
But of being maimed.
Fear of the guns down below.
Fear of what his bombs might do.
Hannover burned.
You could smell it from 28,000 feet.
He shivered, shifted his weight.
Peering through his bomb-sight,
Release button in his hand,
Gripped.
He thought he saw a church in the cross-wires.
He delayed, then closed his eyes,
Pressed the button,
Screamed "Bombs Gone",
Ripped off his mask,
Vomited.

Unseen in the darkness,
A lone nightfighter curved in,
Fired just once.....................

Yeah, something like that, much, much better!, because tighter and showing more than telling - the impact of war brutality now hits. You're not only good at writing, Daff, but also at revising (an art in itself... and at which I so often fail, too much self-aware).

Best - Bar

[Jerrybaldy]

Still disagree Mr Duck. But great poem anyways

[dafydd manton]

Thanks all.

By the way, Jerry, just a useless aside, but I flew on the Vulcans, and it does make you think a bit.......


god man are you waking in the middle of a yorkshire summer, drenched in sweat, tangled in your sheets feeling like your heart will race so fast it will come to a sudden stop?

Yes, but I'm not telling you why!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :toetap05:

[Delta40]

ah, Murgatroyd. I understand (knowing little smile)

[dafydd manton]

Now, you're going to have to PM me about that one, my little chickadee, because I ain't got a clue what you mean!!! (I'd love to know, though. I wait with baited breath!)

[Maryd.]

Drops hat and bows...

Fantastic D. (She says with a slight tremble in her voice)

[dafydd manton]

*Lays hand on hers. Speaks, in dark brown Voice, with other hand clasped to brow* "Fear not, dear lady. 'Tis but a passing whim! Should I fetch the smelling salts?"

[Hawkman]

I wish I'd got to see this before it was edited but I like the finished product. From what I can gather from reading the other comments it sounds as though you made the right choices though. I really felt this one. V good Dafydd.

Best, H

PS. Why call it Runnymede? Not one mention of bad King John or the Barons... :D

[dafydd manton]

You're the first person to query it! I wondered if you might know, given your interest in things military. At Runnymede stands the memorial to the dead of Bomber Command with no known grave. Frightening!

[Hawkman]

Ah! Thanks for that Dafydd, If I did know it, and I don't think I did, I had forgotten. The name is synomymous with much older history for me. And My dad survived, of course.
Best, H

[dafydd manton]

Of course - I'd forgotten. You had told me. Memory like a goldfish.

[Maryd.]

*Lays hand on hers. Speaks, in dark brown Voice, with other hand clasped to brow* "Fear not, dear lady. 'Tis but a passing whim! Should I fetch the smelling salts?"

:ladysman::ladysman: