St. Gunner
Member
A few weeks ago I was approached by the editor of the poetry section of the school newspaper to write a poem. For those who don't know I am an English major working on my last six hours to a BA. I have a reputation on campus as someone you don't want in your class if you are a socialist. I wrote the following poem and submitted it to a few select individuals I know and some family members. I got close to 90% responding that the message it sends is vital to our cause. But 10% among them my brother and my mother feel it is to graphic.
My goal upon writing it was to take those reading into an emotional state, for one most will be preparing to sit in a classroom shortly after reading it, and try to make them place themselves in a position of great physical danger and unimaginable fear. Then provide them a simple solution to the fear of this situation. Then in closing show the truths of what will happen if and when the solution where ever instituted.
I would like you to read it and comment to me on how you feel about it, does it take the graphic to far, or is that what the sheeple sitting in a classroom truly need, to be shocked into the truth of the world. I'm torn, i've tried to revise the first stanza(or the violence of it) out of this poem, but it doesn't seem to have any real impact when you do.
"Honoring Honor"
Silence bought with utter fear;
Fear bought with taking of life so dear.
He kicks and flops at the sound of shot,
head bursting smearing a bloody spot;
Brain mixed with blood, red/grey slop.
A woman screams for him to stop.
He answers quickly with a shot to her chest,
She slumps in her desk as if at rest.
A young man screams "what a brave, brave soul."
Now in agony on the floor he rolls,
Gut shot, for speaking his mind;
Dark crimson blood, he is almost out of time.
He hears from down the hall the echo of shots
Reaching in his backpack he draws his Glock.
He races down the hall to the silent room
Eyes casting about for the villainous gloom
He hears the cries of a gutshot boy.
Wishes that this was a game and in his hand was a toy.
He opens the door and in with a rush,
The killer pivots, and starts to cuss.
The pistol bucks in his hand,
But his bravery is illegal in this land.
The killer lay dead in a pool of gore.
The savior slammed against the door;
Campus Police think they know the score.
They put him in cuffs and lead him away;
For simply trying to save the day.
Prosecuted and jailed for a gun at school;
Because he refused to follow the rule,
Ignored society and carried a tool.
Steve Moody
My goal upon writing it was to take those reading into an emotional state, for one most will be preparing to sit in a classroom shortly after reading it, and try to make them place themselves in a position of great physical danger and unimaginable fear. Then provide them a simple solution to the fear of this situation. Then in closing show the truths of what will happen if and when the solution where ever instituted.
I would like you to read it and comment to me on how you feel about it, does it take the graphic to far, or is that what the sheeple sitting in a classroom truly need, to be shocked into the truth of the world. I'm torn, i've tried to revise the first stanza(or the violence of it) out of this poem, but it doesn't seem to have any real impact when you do.
"Honoring Honor"
Silence bought with utter fear;
Fear bought with taking of life so dear.
He kicks and flops at the sound of shot,
head bursting smearing a bloody spot;
Brain mixed with blood, red/grey slop.
A woman screams for him to stop.
He answers quickly with a shot to her chest,
She slumps in her desk as if at rest.
A young man screams "what a brave, brave soul."
Now in agony on the floor he rolls,
Gut shot, for speaking his mind;
Dark crimson blood, he is almost out of time.
He hears from down the hall the echo of shots
Reaching in his backpack he draws his Glock.
He races down the hall to the silent room
Eyes casting about for the villainous gloom
He hears the cries of a gutshot boy.
Wishes that this was a game and in his hand was a toy.
He opens the door and in with a rush,
The killer pivots, and starts to cuss.
The pistol bucks in his hand,
But his bravery is illegal in this land.
The killer lay dead in a pool of gore.
The savior slammed against the door;
Campus Police think they know the score.
They put him in cuffs and lead him away;
For simply trying to save the day.
Prosecuted and jailed for a gun at school;
Because he refused to follow the rule,
Ignored society and carried a tool.
Steve Moody
......but I am willing to bet that unless you repeat it several times and give copies to those that hear it they will not know what to make of it.....my guess is that they will not even realize that there is a good guy and a bad guy....all they will hear is GUNS!....BLOOD!.....BRAINS!.....DEATH!......BUSH!.....IRAQ!
