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If you see this post a poem

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Carol Anne Duffy, the Poet Laureate asked fellow poets to bear witness to the matters of war last summer as the Iraq enquiry approached and the war in Afghanistan escalated.  This touched me.

In Times of Peace

by John Agard

That finger – index to be exact –
so used to a trigger’s warmth
how will it begin to deal with skin
that threatens only to embrace?

Those feet, so at home in heavy boots
and stepping over bodies –
how will they cope with a bubble bath
when foam is all there is for ambush?

And what of hearts in times of peace?
Will war-worn hearts grow sluggish
like Valentine roses wilting
without the adrenalin of a bullet’s blood-rush?

When the dust of peace has settled on a nation,
how will human arms handle the death of weapons?
And what of ears, are ears so tuned to sirens
that the closing of wings causes a tremor?

As for eyes, are eyes ready for the soft dance
of a butterfly’s bootless invasion?

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What’s in a word?

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In a recent  post

wrote about the beauty of words. So I give you:

luxuriate:

  1. To take luxurious pleasure; indulge oneself.
  2. To proliferate.
  3. To grow profusely; thrive.

A word that can only be said with pleasure; which is impossible to say without luxuriating in the way it feels in your mouth.

So, anyone else up for the beauty of words?