Jet Plane Warbirds (Republished)


Noisomely loudly
Splitting our quiet skies
Oh when will you return home?

Be gone, fey daughters of mad Zeus
Be done with twirling your bloody fingers
Fondling their hard-won garlands demanded
And then – oh but of course – soon discarded

Gladiators meet, mete out death, make meat
Reborn as gliadioli – erect, sword-shaped
Leaves and spikes of flowers – overblown
In a superfluity of colour, so over fulsome

Be gone, be gone, we beseech thee
Leave us in peace, in peace
In blessed peace

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on May 28, 2018, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. Ben, I relate to your hatred of military jets and all they represent. And the noise! (I have the same hatred of fireworks, for the same reasons.)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. If only peace would prevail. Powerful words, Ben!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This is a cry for a different ethic, Ben Naga. I wonder if it will ever gain predominance in the world. Zeus is still on Olympus throwing thunderbolts, and the thunderbolts seem to be in the process of becoming more numerous. I am in despair of the dark ethos that seems to be spreading in the world right now. Good poem. Powerful thought.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. We are living in insane times. These are certainly not the first. Let’s hope they’re not the last.


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