Guernica, by Billy Howell-Sinnard
"I paint the objects for what they are."
The horse launches a missile from his mouth,
or a rotten tooth. The sun is a light bulb, or
a light bulb emits light like the rays of a sun
drawn by a child. An arm broken off. A sword
broken. Orifices. Bullet holes. Bomb craters.
War hands prophesy suffering. Destiny etched
in their pleas. They all are saying something
that means nothing, but not to each other.
The galloping horse looks backwards in terror.
Like the wind, an angel descends from falling
buildings, holding a lamp, the flame a leaf--
peace--burning beneath the blackening sun.
No one would believe. They yell, can't be
heard above explosions. The woman's nipples
are detonators. The bull is a god with big balls.
He looks backwards. Destruction follows.
Billy is a hospice case manager, visual artist, and poet. He's had numerous first, second, and third place wins at IBPC (InterBoard Poetry Community). His poem, Hospice Nurse, won second place for poem of the year for 2014-2015. Several of his poems have been published in anthologies and at online poetry sites.
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