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Post by carousal on Jul 16, 2009 7:14:10 GMT -5
The Stick Man
I found a feast today In a bin, discarded No maggots to share with I can live for days Hush now, tread softly ~ Next to me She talks But says nothing Women are not for real They’re the stuff of dreams ~ Yet I feel her warmth Here beside me If I reached for her She would vanish Like before ~ Is this death Do I look at Hell? Through a window Where are the others Where are the stick men? This poem was inspired by an uncle of mine, a prisoner of the Japanese on the Burma railroad. Though he survived he never could adapt to civilian life, for the rest of his life he would scavenge in trash cans and hide the scraps of food he found there.
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Post by stacy (FINALLY back!) on Jul 16, 2009 11:35:43 GMT -5
Exalt! Did I read this at TPS? I'm certain I've read this before. I loved it then and love it now. I could be wrong about reading it before, but I know I've read a poem very similar to this. EXALT!!!
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Post by Max on Jul 16, 2009 12:11:32 GMT -5
Upon first reading this, the term "stick men" reminded me of the paper-thin victims of the Holocaust, but this can certainly work for any prisoners of war. This is a great tribute to your uncle, simply an excellent write.
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Post by Artemis on Jul 16, 2009 13:43:31 GMT -5
Poignant write Cari. Beautiful, haunting and so very sad. There must be so many stories like this, I love to hear them, it makes me count my blessings. Thanks for sharing, Kerry xx
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Post by NewMan™ on Jul 17, 2009 5:55:19 GMT -5
amazing write my friend, the things one man puts his fellow man thru never ceases to horrify me. Although the ending really set the theme, I loved the second and third stanzas because they show how easy it is too loose touch with reality when reality is too hard to deal with.
Amazed and in awe
Daniel
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Post by kellygreen on Jul 29, 2009 12:11:28 GMT -5
This is beautifully sad.
The title is perfect.
kelly
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