Poems from Korea, circa 1972
I wrote the poem, “This is War,” in an effort to call attention to the grim realities of war, all wars. Someone
once said that war is simply an extension of diplomacy. I see it as a failure of our world leaders to resolve their differences with reason. That was my naïve belief in 1972, when I wrote it--each stanza of which describes a
scene from past wars. I have since come to realize, that going to war has little to do with a failure of diplomacy,
and more to do with corporate greed and political power.
This Is War
by Vito Tomasino
A child runs naked from the dust and din,
face contorted in anguished cry,
fleeing the napalm that seared her virgin skin,
and a mind whose suffering eyes ask, why?
This is war!
Children stare in incomprehensible bewilderment,
too young to ask why such misery is theirs,
Taken perhaps to protective internment.
No one cares. No one.
This is war!
Young sisters, near starvation, submerged in their hell,
only the war’s insanity above to ease the loneliness.
Their mother taken by merciful death…
They alone remain to witness man’s ugliness.
This is war!
A babe by the roadside, belly bloated,
wails unheard above the battle’s thunder.
Once merciful hands with blood today coated,
reach now to still grim conscience’s reminder.
This is war! And more.
I wrote the poem, “This is War,” in an effort to call attention to the grim realities of war, all wars. Someone
once said that war is simply an extension of diplomacy. I see it as a failure of our world leaders to resolve their differences with reason. That was my naïve belief in 1972, when I wrote it--each stanza of which describes a
scene from past wars. I have since come to realize, that going to war has little to do with a failure of diplomacy,
and more to do with corporate greed and political power.
This Is War
by Vito Tomasino
A child runs naked from the dust and din,
face contorted in anguished cry,
fleeing the napalm that seared her virgin skin,
and a mind whose suffering eyes ask, why?
This is war!
Children stare in incomprehensible bewilderment,
too young to ask why such misery is theirs,
Taken perhaps to protective internment.
No one cares. No one.
This is war!
Young sisters, near starvation, submerged in their hell,
only the war’s insanity above to ease the loneliness.
Their mother taken by merciful death…
They alone remain to witness man’s ugliness.
This is war!
A babe by the roadside, belly bloated,
wails unheard above the battle’s thunder.
Once merciful hands with blood today coated,
reach now to still grim conscience’s reminder.
This is war! And more.
