THE GARDEN OF MY SOUL

Soldier Of Fortune. You could have died in bed, But you chose the field of battle. Fascinated by the machine guns rattle, And those flying slugs of lead. The rifle in your hand gives you a sense of power, Enemy shells bursting killing men by the hour. Youthful sense of heroics led you astray, The question is will you live through another day. Grenades explode all around you, Those that survive are few. You do not seem to care a lot, On the killing fields of battle many are left to rot. Dug in, in your trench thick with squashy mud, Waiting with baited breath, listening to the shells next thud. Eighteen years old now filled with the knowledge of death, What will be your thoughts as you take your last Breath? Will you think of home and your Mum and Dad? The rest of their lives empty and so very sad. Some have lost a leg others an arm, Were you so naive to believe there would be no harm? Was it the thought of medals or to be mentioned in dispatch? That made you join an army at a moments scratch. You could have said no, that war is a crime. Down through history men have done it all the time. You fight on foreign shores not protecting your Fatherland. Yours is an act of aggression, something not very grand. A Soldier of fortune fighting for filthy money, Is neither heroic or sadly not in the least funny. A man paid to kill all that stands in the way. Barbaric that is all one can find to say. You made your choice it was your very own, When you die no one is to blame but you, and you alone. When and if you are buried with a tombstone at your head, One can only say a brave fool is now very dead.

I like this one very much. It seems to have a hidden meaning to the roots searching beneath the rubble to find the depth of your well. The magnolia is a beautiful tree and such a statement of opulence unlike it smaller blossomed buddies. African violet and American shores are obviously something person to you in the poem as I am sure the Magnolia didn't reach America via Africa but then who knows for sure. Wet soil ...now that I can relate to ...come to Scotland and struggle with the drowning of the plants in the softness of the often rained soil. Fresh thoughts for my morning Boni, thanks. Seabhac

I hope you understand, there are many demands on me here. But I wish I did. This is a superbly extended metaphor, intelligent and powerfully written. And yes, I have also often been inspired by GMH, without using his form, I wish I could! Perhaps he exemplifies to me how the language of poetry can be musical without being lyrics. Cheers, Jess, reprehensibly irrepressible

Such a verdant heart and fertile mind, Boni! Thanks for being you. ~A "A poem is never finished, only abandoned." ~ Paul Valery

Havent heard of GM hopkins before but I will be sure to look ... sometimes the plants can loved ... and they wilt with the over burdening of life love Jayne-Chloe

Thank you again Bonitaj, I cannot remove my poem by myself. I also thank you for your poem, I love flowers even more than animals any your wording is exquisite, I am sure that the Good Lord will send those roots the much needed rain Keep smiling bern.

I like how you create metaphor out of this plant image.. It makes it really deep sounding to the reader.. especially the part about the roots growing down into the earth.. is the earth personified here.. It kind of reads that way.. good free form piece here..

Great poem Bon I love where you're going with this. Crits: I thought where you broke the second and third stanza was a bit awkward. there, where you find my well ..... I don't see how these line breaks add to the poem would like: there,......................"there," on its own line has validity because it enphisises the connection to the garden where you find my well......"where," on its own line I think is like a pumkin in a picknick basket. It flattens out the paté de garbanzos. ie: there, where you find my well B

oooh, i enjoyed this, very personal.