Reposting now that National Poetry Month is over, as a reminder to make poetry a part of your regular literary life, writers! The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose. –Randall Jarrell (1914-1965) When the Lion at his pleasure comesTo the watering place to drink, ah see!See the lesser beasts of Al-RassanScatter, likeDown the rabbit hole….