Rusty Rifle
by
Everett (dale) Pogue
copyright 10-22-2007
Age Rating: 13 to 127
The ancient gun hangs suspended on two square nails above the mantle
where it has slept a hundred forty years.
It is a classic, for in it's day a round could travel six hundred yards and leave an unsuspecting man in blue writhing in the weeds.
The stock was cut and carved without touch of lathe or saw.
A bayonet once locked beneath the barrel for combat face to face.
In a coffee can leadened balls the size of marbles lie unused, untouched.
A faded leather pouch long empty of black powder droops resolutely
in silent tribute to a bloody day long past.
Deep scars are etched into metal and wood giving silent assent this piece had seen much battle.
What would the rifle say if it could voice of war and death? Would it believe that other wars have followed time and again? Verdun,
Anzio, Iwo Jima, Tarawa, Chosin Reservoir, Viet Nam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and hundreds more un-named places where men have died, both friend and foe?
It is silent now. No smell of burning powder. No screams of dying men calling vainly for the medic or their mother. Silence. What have we learned? The silent, rusty rifle perhaps is telling us through it's silence.
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There will always be those that do not see what you are saying. Some people will always believe that through blood shed we can find answers, but really all we get are sad mothers,fathers and loved ones. To die for another is said to be the greatest gift one can give, but I think we should give peace a chance! This is a very good write and one that makes us think, Thank You, Anthony
This poem echoes something my father said long ago. "If you leave a loaded gun on a table for a hundred years and don't touch it, it won't kill anyone." What your poem says is true: in the end, weapons don't kill people without a little help from the user. Even an "automatic" machine gun needs someone to operate the trigger and load the weapon.
Anyway, this does a good job of highlighting the sad truth that human strife necessitates the use of weapons that advance with every conflict. The rifle in the title had seen its day and had long been replaced, but the scars indicating it had been used bear silent witness to the fact that once upon a time, it took part in a war. Again, weapons in and of themselves do not kill: a human with motivation, however noble or ignoble it may be, uses it to kill. This is a succinct and powerful summary of your point, and for that I say "good work."
Above a time lost to ideals, felt the history ripping pieces of time and memories given life back to honor dead waiting in blood fields overgrown, as the willing lost brother father and child, union stood, as the gun rusts, great write.. Walt
Opened well, developed well, and closed beautifully. I wished more lines to read, but these were quite sufficient. You used just the right amount of words, not one wasted and all germane to the piece.
Powerful imagery, haunting tale, and realism.
Unbridled imagery! Resolute in taking me to the days of gunpowder, of lost young lives, proving a point or two. But the interesting part of this poem or short story is the fact that the rifle is inactive, rusty and not a threat to anyone. Man vs the infamous gun... We create the weapon, we pull the trigger, we cause the pain, the misery the sense of loss. We are causers of death! I love the imagery, the fluidity and the sense of mystery posed by this piece! Great job!
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