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ALAN ON THE MORROW

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On the honeyed sands of Bodrum’s where the tourists with their children swim and play

It’s a place of fun and laughter where Westerners enjoy their holiday

And the hotels on the shoreline raise the many different European flags

But no-one used the beach the day they found a single, sodden pile of rags.

 

That day would drain humanity of decency and spirit and of joy

For the sodden pile of rags turned out to be a tiny Kurdish boy.

 

The West looked on the picture of the boy and from the platform of its wealth

And in the image of the boy it saw the ugly image of itself.

We all began to weep our salty tears for the little boy that day

And wrung our hands in grief but on the morrow stowed our grief and tears away.

 

And once again the honeyed sands are where the tourists and their children swim and play

It’s a place of fun and laughter where the Westerners enjoy their holiday

◄ THE SCOURGE OF GOD

ONE GOOD REASON ►

Comments

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John Coopey

Wed 13th Feb 2019 00:43

Many thanks Desmond, Taylor and Mae for the 'likes'.

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John Coopey

Sun 10th Feb 2019 22:46

Thanks again, David and Ray.

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raypool

Sun 10th Feb 2019 21:32

It's good to see poetry coming to deliver a message starkly and wrest so much response rightly so John. Yes, a serious side, nice to see from yourself . I sense you found it a hard task to convey with no overriding ego involved , which I applaud.

Ray

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John Coopey

Sun 10th Feb 2019 17:51

Indeed,MC. I recall the Vietnamese girl photo. I believe she was burned by napalm. An image which summarised the war and the era.

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M.C. Newberry

Sun 10th Feb 2019 16:27

Tragedy unfolds around us every day in this life. In conflict, the
single image can be so powerful in representing the greater horror.
Remember the photograph of that naked burnt little Vietnamese
child on the path somewhere in her war-ravaged country? It came
to represent the reality of what such horrors meant and went
around the world. The grainy photographs of uncomprehending
children being led towards the Nazi gas chambers still linger in my
mind. Someone's children are always the pitiful victims of conflict
and nothing seems to stop that generational tragedy occurring
anywhere in the world.

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John Coopey

Sun 10th Feb 2019 13:41

Thanks, Kev. Yes, I don’t like to get too type-cast, although I am aware which I am better at! Hope to be there Thurs and might do this as a bit of a surprise. It’s a bugger to play though for someone of my limited ability.

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kJ Walker

Sun 10th Feb 2019 13:32

Hi John
This is so different from your usual cheeky stuff, I had to double check that it was you who posted it. Of course I know that you can do serious stuff as I have read your book (everyone should buy a copy.. get a plug in here).
Have you considered writing under two different names, so that the reader knows what to expect?
See you soon all being well. (Are you doing requests on Thursday)

Cheers mate

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John Coopey

Sun 10th Feb 2019 12:07

Many thanks again, David. Did you check out the Tom Paxton song on YouTube? It really is extremely powerful.

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John Coopey

Sun 10th Feb 2019 10:36

Thanks too to Desmond and Lisa for the”likes”.

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John Coopey

Sun 10th Feb 2019 10:31

Thanks Tim and David. I always try to start with the premise that the problem is Me. Rather than the others.
And I confess the poem owes hugely (the tune is virtually a copy) to Tom Paxton’s far superior “On the Road from Srebenica”.

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Tim Ellis

Sun 10th Feb 2019 08:37

Hugely sad and poignant, John. We who were born in the UK all forget how privileged we are.

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John Coopey

Sat 9th Feb 2019 13:34

Thanks Po and Keith. Not my usual barrow but I’ve tried to do it justice.

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keith jeffries

Sat 9th Feb 2019 13:25

John,

Sensitively written. It nearly brought me to tears but sadly this little chap is but one of many. Not only were the onlookers wealthy westerners but people who have elected governments which do business with those who ally themselves with the evil culprits responsible for this. I am filled with a deep sense of sadness but also a mounting sense of burning anger.

Thank you for this poem and for putting it on your blog.

Keith

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