Swords into Ploughshares
by cricketjeff on January 4, 2010. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
He grows his mushrooms in the air-raid shelter.
His old tin hat holds pot-plants by the door.
The look-out tower became a helter skelter,
And army blankets insulate the floor.
His giant leeks are raised in cartridge cases;
A concrete pillbox makes a sturdy shed.
He finds these things in most peculiar places,
But how to use them comes from in his head.
Old tank tracks keep his drive from turning muddy;
His bedsheets used to be a parachute.
The frames and glass no longer charred and bloody,
A Heinkel cockpit warms his summer fruit.
Nobody now makes ploughshares out of swords;
But careful thought can still reap some rewards.
Author notes
This poem was previously titled “Recycled Warfare”
English