I wrote this poem a few weeks ago and hoped that soon it wouldn’t be relevant. Sadly, it still is.
Bombardment
The voice on the afternoon radio
intones relentlessly:
“Australian bushfires continue to rage…
hundreds of koalas incinerated in the blazes…”
My mind shies away,
maneuvers back
to the gentle glow of the waning moon
limning our snow-covered barn roof
this morning.
To the stark angles and edges
of roof and sky,
transformed by moonlight.
“…successful airstrikes on militant targets.”
Words drum, pierce.
A relentless aerial assault.
My mind retreats to the glory
of an incandescent sunrise–
two deer grazing, a squadron of geese
layers of kindled mist
shifting, shimmering.
“…two students killed and three others injured…”
Strings of words strafe.
I scan the shadowy terrain
The skies are a deep indigo blue.
Thick charcoal clouds scud along,
barely visible.
There’s nothing else to see.
Winter is on our doorstep.
Already it’s dark outside.
©Molly Hogan, 2019
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Australian poet, Sally Murphy, at her blog. She’s sharing what she’s doing to respond to the ongoing bush fire tragedy in Australia, news about a bibliography of verse novels she’s working on with Kat Apel, and a cover reveal for her soon-to-be published verse novel.
Nix the comfort zone 
The literal fires in Australia and the metaphorical fires raging elsewhere. Your words pierce with truth and poignancy. Thank you, Molly.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. I so wish this poem weren’t relevant.
LikeLike
A beautifully written poem! Thank you for sharing, Molly. I too listen to the news from the peace of my kitchen each morning. Lovely images in those three stanzas.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I find it so difficult to listen to the news anymore,
LikeLike
Wow! That ending is poignant. I’d like to share this with my students as they have been asking questions. I want them to know they can turn to poetry for comfort.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’d be honored if you shared this with your students. Thanks, Margaret.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh how beautiful, Molly. So very poignant. I love that nature can help take some of the sting away, though the melancholy of those closing lines is just perfect.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sally, you and your country are so often in my mind these days.
LikeLike
An impressive ending…so impressive. I feel the strafing, the bombardment, the assault. I am so tired of it. Beautiful poem says so much of what I feel.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Linda. The news does feel like a nightly assault.
LikeLike
Haunting ending for both voices – “Winter is on our doorstep.
Already it’s dark outside.” 12 months and counting!
LikeLiked by 1 person
12 months and counting for what, Dan?
LikeLike
A new president!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I wish I had your optimism 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
Feeling low and words with nature do help, as you so poignantly have shown, Molly. I am caught when reading “My mind retreats”. Sometimes it’s too hard to listen, then I return because I want to know & figure out how to help. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Linda, I retreat far more than I should and then feel ashamed that I’m not listening and doing more to make a difference.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh Molly, that’s where my heart and mind have been, too. Thank you for writing about it! Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ruth, I think of you often and of the difficulties you’ve been living with this year.
LikeLike
[…] has most of us down and wondering what will happen next, my fellow poets and I turn to nature. Molly Hogan lets her eye find solace in nature in her poem this week. Linda Mitchell has haiku to share. And […]
LikeLike
Oh, this is moving. Yes, these are dark days. Nature and poetry both help.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I turn to both often, and I know you do, too.
LikeLike
With these words, “My mind retreats to the glory
of an incandescent sunrise–” there is a pause for peace that you so beautifully share in contrast to the sting of harsh reality. Thank you, Molly, for sharing the grief many feel in poetic language.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Molly, this is beautiful and brings comfort, too. I can barely listen to the news–fires and infernos of all kinds seem to be all too common. I, too, turn to the beauty of nature for comfort, though I haven’t managed to capture such images as you have in this poem (and in your photos, too). This week I’ve soaked in the sight of sandhill cranes flying against sunrise and sunset on my commute.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, lucky you to be able to watch sandhill cranes. I can just imagine finding solace in that sight!
LikeLike
Strong poem Molly, interesting rhythm your’ve created and offered by moving back and forth between the bombardment of world’s daily disasters, and nature’s solace, fitting title too–thanks.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s a rhythm that all too frequently patterns my days, Michelle.
LikeLike
You’ve written the poem for this terrible time, Molly -powerful and haunting.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Tara.
LikeLike
This poem really resonates with me, Molly. I often feel that I can’t listen to another word. Your poem captures the “relentless aerial assault” and my desire to retreat from it perfectly. Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Catherine. It’s hard to balance the need to be informed with the need to retreat.
LikeLike
This came out powerful and haunting indeed, Molly. You succeeded in making it work whether listening in the car on the way home or FROM home, and the SOUNDS of these lines, and others!
“of an incandescent sunrise–
two deer grazing, a squadron of geese”
Beautifully, truthfully done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Heidi. I wish there was less truth in it…
LikeLike
Oh, Molly. When will it all end? “Serenity now!” as they used to say on Seinfeld. You’ve certainly captured it all here. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Christie.
LikeLiked by 1 person