stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18411
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2017-10-10 14:29:54
    [post_date_gmt] => 2017-10-10 14:29:54
    [post_content] => somewhere a son, a lover, a gun
(all these three combined in one
an unholy trinity) falls beneath the sun.

all the world stops. the soldiers still.
a final breath and then a chill:
how terribly simple it is to kill.

embraced by silence, taken to the shade.
a man undone, a man unmade
coins on eyes- a lifetime paid.

the flies settle and bring obsolescence-
funereal humming, slow putrescence.
these eager, foolish adolescents

so keen to die. rushing in headlong-
headstrong- do they know that this swansong
may be beautiful, but before long

all the sound stops. no memory
can make up for mortality
a son, a lover, a gun: a fatality.
    [post_title] => somewhere
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => somewhere-2
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2017-10-19 13:19:51
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-10-19 13:19:51
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=18411
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2017
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is highly commended in the Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017 on Young Poets Network (YPN), judged by Wendy Cope, Fran Brearton, Llewela Selfridge, and Judith Palmer.

Marina reflects on her poem:
"In this poem I'm responding to specifically Keith Douglas' 'How to Kill' and 'Aristocrats: "I Think I Am Becoming A God", trying to encapsulate Douglas' own view of conflict: Douglas understands the tragedy of the loss of life and presents it in his own candid, genuine style, thereby creating both an honest criticism of the war and a moving testament to the fallen, a complexity I endeavour to recreate."
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Highly commended, Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 16715
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Marina McCready
            [slug] => marina-mccready
            [content] => Marina is a top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2017, and a commended poet in the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2016 and 2015. She is highly commended in the Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017 on Young Poets Network; she is also the winner of the Greys Court Palimpsest Poetry Challenge. 
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 16715
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Marina McCready
    [slug] => marina-mccready
    [content] => Marina is a top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2017, and a commended poet in the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2016 and 2015. She is highly commended in the Timothy Corsellis Prize 2017 on Young Poets Network; she is also the winner of the Greys Court Palimpsest Poetry Challenge. 
)

somewhere

Marina McCready

somewhere a son, a lover, a gun
(all these three combined in one
an unholy trinity) falls beneath the sun.

all the world stops. the soldiers still.
a final breath and then a chill:
how terribly simple it is to kill.

embraced by silence, taken to the shade.
a man undone, a man unmade
coins on eyes- a lifetime paid.

the flies settle and bring obsolescence-
funereal humming, slow putrescence.
these eager, foolish adolescents

so keen to die. rushing in headlong-
headstrong- do they know that this swansong
may be beautiful, but before long

all the sound stops. no memory
can make up for mortality
a son, a lover, a gun: a fatality.