NO QUARTER

 

 Two poems that plow the same furrow this post. I shall not go into details of the origin, suffice to say they were written some time ago.

she would say you are making me do this

but he saw no straight lines of Newtonian force flow from him to her

the opposite was true

each and every savage spat

pushed her further from his heart

he left

she could not stand being dumped

an action that confirmed his place in her folk tales

he has yet to give an inch of compassion

The photograph is of a David Hockney designed blind in Saltaire. The village is worth a visit if you are in the area.

This second poem riffs off the same source.

Leonard, she told me, got one thing right, women and men are at war, constantly, and I was a fool to believe otherwise. Over time I concluded she was more Pat Benatar than Leonard Cohen, playing to the camera, all synth drums and big hair and a spiteful mind, the kind that cannot be healed. I enlisted in the army and gave no quarter.

 I leave you with Natalie Merchant and San Andreas Fault.

Until next time.