November 16, 2013

  • The Pleasure Domes*

    The nuns waver in the shimmer an hour before the afternoon rain
    Devils dance in the streets
    Bunker oil has not been laid as yet to still them
    Across the strait - The skies above the mountains of Samaar
    Slowly blacken with jungle moisture on its way to join our own

    In the shallows - The masts of sunken ships lance skyward to mark their graves
    Some blown pillboxes rubbled on the beach
    Mix with pristine sand to mark more graves
    Occasionally a bloated corpse floats in to be degassed with a forty-five
    If it is one of ours - or just left to be exploded by the sun

    Sweat soaks us as we line up yet again in the merciless heat
    Palm-shade not helping much as we await our turns
    Outside the rounded metal hut
    It was thrown up less than a week after the town had been secured
    Tagalog notices distributed and the hiring of eager applicants begun

    It’s been four months since the supreme generalissimo returned as promised
    Splashing ashore more than once for army movie-cams to get it right
    One of his first decrees - To build the pleasure domes
    Staffed with his docs and medics who now short-arm us all
    And also make sure the girls are clean

    No blacks are seen in our protracted line
    (It would be years before equality's affirmed)
    Their own much smaller quonset near the strip is hidden in the bush
    On the other side of town - It trembles slightly adding to the thrill
    As the Billies and the 38's roar off on useless runs

    The nuns? - They come and go oblivious of our long queue
    (Embarrassed men and boys)
    For there's a nunnery across the way and the nuns of Santa Cruz
    Silently they come and go in darkness and in light
    To minister to their debilitated flock at a hastily-rebuilt hospital on Red Beach

    After the hills are stabilized and danger's past - Junketing congressmen
    The U.S.O and press appear - and the pleasure domes are closed
    Infections soar - Rum is poisoned and the economy caves in
    The huts are then given to the nuns who have them torn apart
    To roof both hospital and nunnery with corrugated sheets

    *Repost: The site of the poem is the town of Tacloban where
    the recent devastation we all see on our TV screens has taken place…

Comments (4)

  • Hurray! You are able to post again!!! I do remember this one. It made me uncomfortable with the stark and vivid images. It is well done!!
    How did the problem get resolved?

  • Oh wow! How descriptive of the savagery of war and the devastation of a different kind from what has happened now. I am so sorry for the people of the islands who are going through such ravages of nature now. Thank you for this memory of yours. Best regards to you.

  • Thank you Dr Z... It's so wonderful to see you with your little granchild... During the past week, 2 more great-grandchildren (Boys) arrived within 2 days of each other... This makes a total of 7 (ALL BOYS!)...Blessings on you and yours!...,

  • Thank you Val... I Googled the Xanga site and posted they cashed in my contribution to save the site but did not credit my premium service as promised... Apparently someone at X saw it and plugged me back in!... Blessings on you and yours and I apologize for not acknowledging all your wonderful posts but I read and enjoy them so very much...

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