#shooters - Hello Poetry

Why do you wear your guns back to front in the holsters? Helen asked me as we walked the bomb site by Meadow Row I saw this cowboy in a film at the cinema have his like this and you cross your hands over and get your guns isn't it slower that way? she asked no it's speed that matters not how you wear your guns I said I showed her how quick I was and she stood bemused clutching her doll Battered Betty tightly to her chest haven't you got caps in your guns to make them sound real? she asked no I ran out and anyway I can make the sound myself by going BANG BANG she jumped away holding Battered Betty to her chest you could have told me you were going to make that loud banging noise Betty got frightened I looked at her tightly woven plaits of hair and thick lens glasses and her small hands holding the doll sorry Betty I said patting the doll's head I put the guns away and we walked to the New Kent Road and along under the railway bridge and by the Trocadero cinema gazing at the billboards and small pictures of films being shown you can come with me here on Saturday I said they've got a good cowboy film showing haven't any money for the cinema Mum said she can't afford it Helen said my old man'll cough up some money if I ask I said she looked at me Mum'll let me go if you ask her Helen said ok let's go ask her now I said so we walked to Helen's house and I told her about how I practised drawing my guns everyday she looked at Betty but whether she was listening to me or not I couldn't say.

0

May 14, 2014

May 14, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC

terry-collett

HELEN AND THE GUNS.

Why do you wear your guns back to front in the holsters? Helen asked me as we walked the bomb site by Meadow Row I saw this cowboy in a film at the cinema have his like this and you cross your hands over and get your guns isn't it slower that way? she asked no it's speed that matters not how you wear your guns I said I showed her how quick I was and she stood bemused clutching her doll Battered Betty tightly to her chest haven't you got caps in your guns to make them sound real? she asked no I ran out and anyway I can make the sound myself by going BANG BANG she jumped away holding Battered Betty to her chest you could have told me you were going to make that loud banging noise Betty got frightened I looked at her tightly woven plaits of hair and thick lens glasses and her small hands holding the doll sorry Betty I said patting the doll's head I put the guns away and we walked to the New Kent Road and along under the railway bridge and by the Trocadero cinema gazing at the billboards and small pictures of films being shown you can come with me here on Saturday I said they've got a good cowboy film showing haven't any money for the cinema Mum said she can't afford it Helen said my old man'll cough up some money if I ask I said she looked at me Mum'll let me go if you ask her Helen said ok let's go ask her now I said so we walked to Helen's house and I told her about how I practised drawing my guns everyday she looked at Betty but whether she was listening to me or not I couldn't say.

100

Blood spilled Tears streamed But no matter how much you beg on your knees That’s what war can be The child cried as his mother’s body lied With the building burning to ashes Ashes to the ground, as you hear the child plea But alas that’s what war can be The man strangled out cries As his dying breaths suffocated Underneath the collapsed building, trying to flee But alas that’s what war can be Remember the father who starved himself so his children could eat? Who had been stripped from his luxury? His happiness, his love? Who wanted to be free? Is that what war can be? What about the brother? Who lost his leg, saving his sister from a shooter? What about the sister? Who died so that her brother could survive his gun inflicted blister? What about the children? Who think the parents went to the store? Only to have the parents in a Ranger’s view Lying on the ground, blood seeping through What about the men and women? Lined up, not knowing their final words Tears prickling, not being able to see Is that what you want your people to see? But that’s all fine Get the victims in a line For it’s all for honor For it’s all for power What do you think Goes through the people’s heads? Oh how great is our country, For being torn to shreds? Or oh it’s fine your son died, Even if you had cried All this bloodshed is just insignificant clatter to such an elite matter What about the bloodshed? The dead families? The orphans? The starvation? The pain, the agony? The tears? The lost homes? The children living in fear? The bonds broken? Is it all worth ego? While you bet the lives like a gambling casino? Imagine suffocating slowly and painfully, still having so much to do Imagine watching your mother die, right after she attended the stew Imagine holding your child, trying hard to erase all doubt Imagine living a life, where nothing goes right and about Imagine seeing your school friends cry While blood trickles from your thigh So go on with your slaughter But remember the mother Every eye you made shed salty water The sister The brother The father The farmer The doctor The peasant The teacher The student So hold your ****** weapons up high But remember That once blood is on the hands it never fades or becomes dry

0

Mar 22, 2019

Mar 22, 2019 at 8:15 AM UTC

authentic221

That's what war can be

Blood spilled Tears streamed But no matter how much you beg on your knees That’s what war can be The child cried as his mother’s body lied With the building burning to ashes Ashes to the ground, as you hear the child plea But alas that’s what war can be The man strangled out cries As his dying breaths suffocated Underneath the collapsed building, trying to flee But alas that’s what war can be Remember the father who starved himself so his children could eat? Who had been stripped from his luxury? His happiness, his love? Who wanted to be free? Is that what war can be? What about the brother? Who lost his leg, saving his sister from a shooter? What about the sister? Who died so that her brother could survive his gun inflicted blister? What about the children? Who think the parents went to the store? Only to have the parents in a Ranger’s view Lying on the ground, blood seeping through What about the men and women? Lined up, not knowing their final words Tears prickling, not being able to see Is that what you want your people to see? But that’s all fine Get the victims in a line For it’s all for honor For it’s all for power What do you think Goes through the people’s heads? Oh how great is our country, For being torn to shreds? Or oh it’s fine your son died, Even if you had cried All this bloodshed is just insignificant clatter to such an elite matter What about the bloodshed? The dead families? The orphans? The starvation? The pain, the agony? The tears? The lost homes? The children living in fear? The bonds broken? Is it all worth ego? While you bet the lives like a gambling casino? Imagine suffocating slowly and painfully, still having so much to do Imagine watching your mother die, right after she attended the stew Imagine holding your child, trying hard to erase all doubt Imagine living a life, where nothing goes right and about Imagine seeing your school friends cry While blood trickles from your thigh So go on with your slaughter But remember the mother Every eye you made shed salty water The sister The brother The father The farmer The doctor The peasant The teacher The student So hold your ****** weapons up high But remember That once blood is on the hands it never fades or becomes dry

72

The worker/child we know just went postal he's been on the edge for years that final brick on his shoulders stocking his armory, of fear he's lost the grip on his anger heart filled with fear and with hate control has gone out the window violence, the flood at the gate could we have seen this coming? would it have made any sense? the blankest of looks on his face as rage, is what is dispensed no easy answers are found we'll never really understand why what broke in his mental compartment we're better off if he dies

0

Apr 10, 2025

Apr 10, 2025 at 11:55 AM UTC

TemporalFugue

Gone postal (repost from the Vault)

The worker/child we know just went postal he's been on the edge for years that final brick on his shoulders stocking his armory, of fear he's lost the grip on his anger heart filled with fear and with hate control has gone out the window violence, the flood at the gate could we have seen this coming? would it have made any sense? the blankest of looks on his face as rage, is what is dispensed no easy answers are found we'll never really understand why what broke in his mental compartment we're better off if he dies

17