This is a damned inhuman sort of war.
I have been fighting in a dressing-gown
Most of the night; I cannot see the guns,
The sweating gun-detachments or the planes;
I sweat down here before a symbol thrown
Upon a screen, sift facts, initiate
Swift calculations and swift orders; wait
For the precise split-second to order fire.
We chant our ritual words; beyond the phones
A ghost repeats the orders to the guns:
One Fire . . . Two Fire . . . ghosts answer: the guns roar
Abruptly; and an aircraft waging war
Inhumanly from nearly five miles height.
Meets our bouquet of death – and turns sharp right.
(R N Currey)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Death & Dying Poems, War & Peace Poems, Fire Poems, Sign & Symbol Poems, Ghost Poems, Facts Poems, Telephones PoemsBased on Keywords: initiate, dressing-gown, calculations, aircraft, inhumanly, split-second