Our Readers
POSOWOCO Correspondent!
To Sender

Dear Readers

Here's a poem about going to warSome lines to take you right to the "front".Some words to make up your mind.But will you still want me to go?

Yours Sincerely, POSOWOCO

Bottle 147690 1280

Anyone want verse to teach them how free we are to keep our lives where we want?

Or a poem for love and the dragging away of you for some mandatory service?

Do you need to realise how relatively free we are?

And that everywhere you go your thoughts can take some containment?

Is it important to realise true freedom and know that all before have sacrificed?

What has happened?

Is it me or everyone else?

The Tone in Summer So that I'll remember you Give me a very last sign A touching holding creation A special link I will not lose. In the event place all you have In my place, in my story A collapse of our state And all the walls come tumbling down. Up on the towering hills Look down by torch light At the sleeping village below We are there too. With crashing might the water falls And we go down to the stream's edge To taste the sweetened water Slide down the snow in youth. Of course my dear it will not be Any other river but that for you and me It curves around the rocks Tumbling towards the village next. The train is ready now my dear The smell of steam and coal I fear I am frightened I need help I do not want to die so young. I will see my town get smaller As I head towards the coast and sea The boat will do its duty To help me reach my goal forever. I will hold in my pocket your scarf The last and only hope I can have I know now I will see you again I am not in fear anymore my love. 18th April 1982

I'd had some thoughts about the 1914 war before, but this time I imaged it was me being sent to "fight".

I thought about the time just before leaving with a lover and maybe friends.

I imagined the train journey to the packed harbour with the smell of coal and steam.

I then imagined the abyss and what could happen, but at the last moment, inexplicably, I did not feel frightened.

A hot summer is heard at last but this time feels very different.

Where the river meets the sea I sit and wonder how and why I am here again.

It was as though it kept repeating itself until I had a final answer.

I opened the envelope in my hand, it was the least I could do whilst waiting for you.

I looked; I could hear my heart beat faster.

I had been called up to go to another man's war.

The Tone in Summer

so that you give last --

a touching holding creation

special link I lose