Beasts of the Trenches

Beasts of the Trenches, an homage to the book by Eric Baratay

Here I lie on the battlefield

Injured

I think I saw my Sargent die

One of his legs still has his boot on

Lies not far from my hoofs

I can hear the rats making house calls in his entrails

They do go to the trouble to feed themselves.

Now I remember:

I was galloping when a mortar exploded

It propelled me into the air like a Dove with flattened wings

Suddenly a war dog came to my rescue

It licked my bleeding abdomen

Before me and behind me the wailing of soldiers resounds

They are almost blind in this field where

Fog and smoke mix like a bourbon highball

We, animals, hear loud and clear above the darkened clouds

We can sense the poisoned air

"Nonsense!" I laugh to myself

And I see the clouds of flies approaching 

Signaling my end.

Written by a War Horse, Yser, France, October 22, 1914

Bêtes de tranchées

Bêtes des tranchées , une hommage au livre de Éric Baratay







Je suis couché sur un champ de bataille


Blessé


Je pense avoir vu mon sergent mourir


Une de ses jambes portant sa botte


Git près des mes sabots


J'entends les rats visiter ses entrailles


Ils se donnent de la peine pour se nourrir.


Maintenant je me souviens:


J'ai galopé sur un obus


Qui m'a propulsé dans l'air comme un pigeon colombin avec ses

ailes écrasées


Soudain un chien de guerre vient me secourir


Il lèche mon ventre ensanglanté


Devant et derrière moi des soldats crient

Ils sont presque aveugles dans ce champ ou

Brouillard et fumée se mélangent



Nous, les animaux, nous entendons les cris bien plus fort


Nous sentons l'air empoisonné


Et nous voyons les nuages de mouches qui approchent


Signalant notre fin.



Écrit par un cheval de guerre, Yser, le 22 octobre 1914.

My QR Cemetery

Wearing my Pestalozzi smiling brace

It is Time to go visit my beloved at Montparnasse

(Wearing the brace is mandatory)

If you are caught with a tear or a sob

The sentence is particularly harsh

So many call it "Montsourrire"

It's a place where you flash a smile

Weaving through the small cobblestoned alleys

I find myself finally in front of Him

I pull out my smartphone an point it at his stone

I can sense the scanning, beaming

Split lights that gloriously connect me to his site

Every stone now has a QR:

Next to me, behind me

Gracious faces are all smiling

A new poem appears

(He programmed many before passing)

It goes:

"I love you more than a thousand garbage trucks

The great expectation I had

When that noisy rumble and flashing lights that came down 

Our street at sunrise

When tons of trash would be trucked away

Never to be seen again

Pales to the expectation I lived to hear your breath 

to see the flash in your eyes

and the rumble in your soul."

A tear dribbles down my cheek that is about to twitch

Thankfully my smiling brace holds firm

Then the poem is interrupted with a film about apples and compote

There is buffering

I can hear the music coming from my neighbor's QR Stone

It is the Avengers, not the Avengers super heroes but the one with

Emma Peel and John Steed 

Ironically I am holding onto an umbrella and 

wearing kinky black boots

Suddenly I feel elated

floating

full of digital love

Condensation floated out of my mouth that cool November morning 

Then I remember SMOG

The scientific measurement of ghosts

I quickly turn the scanner on me

I need to QR myself, now!