An American Poet on the War in Ukraine
A Retrospective in Four Poems
Author’s Preface
This retrospective is four poems about the war in Ukraine and my reaction to it over the years.
The first poem “Ukraine 2022” contemplates the four seasons in as many pages. The poems for years 2023, 2024, 2025 are my impressions of each year in single page, and are respectively “Heirlooms,” “We Must Not Wander,” and “When the Liar Comes.”
These poems are my own personal response to the horror.
Ukraine 2022 Spring In the spring when the flowers come and the birds sing, and the morning dew hangs limpid on the leaf, all life lies captive in the hands of He Who Made the World. In the spring when the bombs fall and the people scream and the day’s eye burns dry in the searing missile blasts, all life hangs jangled twisted broken by wicked gaping horrors unspeakable. In the spring when tears are falling and the petals on the flowers weep, and the brave look up and see the bombs come dark across the sky, all life tumbles chaotic and perplexed in the face of evil’s savage rage. In the spring when the mud and blood is wet upon the ground and the true and noble people rise and fight, and the righteous lift up weary eyes pleading for a free and open sky, all life clings with simple hope, praying the valiant cause and love of God. In the spring when the flowers come and the birds sing, and the morning dew hangs limp and sad upon the broken leaf, all life lifts its voice to pray, falling into the hands of He Who Made the World. Summer In the summer when the nations of the world debate and the birds in still perch hesitate, and the morning dew lingers ambivalent on the leaf, all life lies pensive in the hands of He Who Made the World. In the summer when the world dithers and withholds its strength and tender lives are raped and slaughtered in the street and the day’s dim ghost light rises on charred husk villages uncountable, all life hangs smashed concrete shambles torn by evil horrors unspeakable. In the summer when stiff dressed diplomats speak and the flowers are cut to wilt as ornaments and the vulnerable stand aghast now met with only half of an embrace, all life is numb before the world’s cold disregard of iniquitous perils. In the summer when impotent leaders posture speaking empty words and honorable leaders stand true undeterred by fear to crush the foul thing, and the faithful long for good to overcome the night and win the skies, all life waits trusting, praying the triumphant good and love of God. In the summer when the nations of the world debate and the birds in still perch hesitate, and the morning dew dissipates as acrid air settles dirty on the yellowed leaf, all life lifts its voice in hope, falling into the hands of He Who Made the World. Autumn In the autumn when all green has gone down dry and birds hasten on the wind, and the morning dew grips frigid on the leaf, all life lies subdued in the hands of He Who Made the World. In the autumn when the drones and missiles scream and the people no longer flee but sigh in endless cold amid the lingering smell of death and madness, all life hangs scorched bent twisted by hell’s depraved horrors unspeakable. In the autumn when leaves are falling and the flowers lay upon the graves as tears, and true hearts stand firm against the awful swarm come dark across the sky, all life plunges crushed dismayed in the face of wicked savage rage. In the autumn when the mud and blood lie stiff upon the ground and the just and good people shelter and resist, and the valiant lift up suffering eyes pleading for a broad and carefree sky, all life cleaves with living hope, praying the righteous cause and love of God. In the autumn when all green has gone down dry and birds hasten on the wind, and the morning dew bites cold and harsh upon the broken discarded leaf, all life lifts its voice for good, falling into the hands of He Who Made the World. Winter In the winter when the nations of the world link arm and the birds have no song, and the morning dew lays ice rigid on the leaf, all life lies huddled in the hands of He Who Made the World. In the winter when the world resolves to crush the vile perversity and the invader’s tongue of foul deceit has failed and staggered eyes see now vast immoral atrocity and mass graves innumerable, all life hangs speechless facing the utter abomination of horrors unspeakable. In the winter when good and true leaders lift their voice and the flowers adorn the lapels of heroes fallen and survived and the nations look upon the naked sin and the obscenity of barbarous crimes, all life is stirred and warmed in the purifying heat of freedom’s fire. In the winter when world leaders declare the stark horror in clear words and there is no fear but firm determined will to purge such appalling iniquity, and the fervent hearts of good people hear a sacred stillness in the skies, all life stands sure of purpose, praying the abiding hand and love of God. In the winter when the nations of the world link arm and the birds have no song, and the morning dew glistens bright and pure on the frozen brittle leaf, all life lifts its voice in wonder, falling into the hands of He Who Made the World. 28 November 2022
Heirlooms Ukraine 2023 Heirlooms of a kinder place and time, but all will grow again, amid the spent shells and twisted armaments and rusting tanks, and the many discarded things of those who have fallen, all will grow again. Heirlooms of a kinder space sublime, of laughter, squeals, and hugs, in clinging snuggly buried joy, and things long forgotten, now restored, amid the torn and wreckage of what fell and shattered here for life, yes, all will grow again. Heirlooms of another kind, of interludes erased, snuffed empty from this world, eclipsed mystery without trace, a grief too heavy to sustain a tear, a memory, a vacuum of held breath and feelings dry as parching wind lost amid the countless buried fear, believe now, for all will grow again. 5 August 2023
We Must Not Wander Ukraine 2024 the news today… because of Russian terrorist attacks, there are dead and wounded among the civilian population... private residential buildings and other civilian infrastructure were destroyed and damaged… The enemy would have you, oh, sweet cherished blossom of Europe, beautiful Ukraine, a people coming to full age. The evil oppressor would smash, would ravage, would burn and scar, your lovely countenance, vane boasting before a watching world, but you must not give place to their dark transgression, their foul sin nor bend to the hellish stench of their rough boot. The enemy would have you, would spit upon your beauty and take your virgin heart away, yes, rape you and destroy your soul before the cameras of the world. in Avdiivka and Pervomaiske and Nevelske and Semenivka and Lastochkyne and Novobakhmutivka and Berdychi, and Nevelske… Russian troops carrying out extensive bombardments around the clock, launching simultaneous attacks from several directions… Your loveliness gone down to shattered homes and hospitals and schools and churches and woodlands lying cratered and lifeless, shredded in cruel hate, your beauty now so clear, a radiance held in firm resolve and hope in our God to condemn this profane oppressor, bringing justice to a flower. The enemy would have you, oh, sweet cherished blossom of Europe, and we the watching world must not wander in resolve, the evil far too great and crimes too vast for any truly righteous, or any tender caring heart. Oh, beautiful Ukraine! 18 February 2024
When the Liar Comes Ukraine 2025 When the liar comes, please look away from the perversity of his face, look away and remember your loved ones given for Ukraine. They are here beneath your feet, beneath the gutted scorch of earth, they lay, their blood crying out from once gentle fields and flowing wooded lands. When the evil comes and speaks falsely, luring you with sweet words, please stop your ears and turn away, turn away from the foul iniquity appearing as some reasonable man. For the ancient book says, Satan has been a liar from the beginning, has come to every age and time and realm, and told his thousand lies, has filled the lips of immoral men, obscene dark angels offering false relief, beguiling with smooth talk of imaginary hope, but no mention of his chains. When the liar comes, please walk away from the stagnant awful death of his embrace, walk away and remember your loved ones given for Ukraine. They are here carried in your wound, your broken heart and memory, they lay, their love singing now of freedom to a once flowered and beautiful land. When the evil comes to shackle you, offering his many soft delusions, please stop your tongue and flee away, flee away from this present danger and foul deceit, this horror of a man. 19 February 2025
Thank you for reading these poems. This view of the war in Ukraine needs to be told. Please consider sharing. I am looking for a publication bold enough to run these.
Henry
Beautiful work