Monday Poetry Corner


Poet and Didn’t Know It!




Trying to explain to a friend what poetry is last week, I am not sure I made a lot of sense. Other than being in the eye of the beholder, it’s easy to get sidetracked, because a lot of things can come across as being poetic, without being actual poetry.

And that is what interests me, really. The poetic quality of things. The fact you can ascribe poetry to things and have people take them; if not seriously, then at least differently. As I am supposed to be some kind of Sociologist, it is perhaps not so surprising I should be more interested in peoples reactions to poetry than in poems themselves.

Things like this are also an end in themselves for me. I am an old romantic, and I think there is far too much taking seriously these days. Or maybe it’s the wrong things that are taken seriously. Either way, taking the time to discover art, philosophy and poetry in your surroundings is something I think is both very important and done far too seldom these days.

It’s always been like that, by the way. Those who came before always seem to have been better at those things. Consider the ancient Greeks, Romans, or Aquarians; how many people have they not made feel like they were born too late?

But as with “the one that got away”, or your most intimate fantasies, anticipation will almost always beat fulfillment. You don’t really want to meet your heroes, because you might find out they are just like you: disenchanted, disillusioned, and pining for ancient, better times just like you are.

There is comfort to be drawn from this. The realisation that we are not so different; the human condition is what it is, the same it’s always been, and somehow, in the long run, that has to be a good thing. We have the same opportunities for love, learning and transcendence as the old Romans, and when we are gone, people will wonder about us; how we lived and how we felt, and they will also feel they were born too late.

Again, just like we do.

So singing the praises of seeing the poetic in your immediate surroundings like this, I started thinking about what the most poetic tank might be, and it turns out the answer is pretty obvious.

It is of course the Spähpanzer Ru 251; the fastest tank in the game in any sense of the word.

So I tried to do one better, and write a poem about it. Here’s what I came up with. Not saying it’s Verlaine, but as an expression of my feelings for the tank, I am pretty happy with it. I don’t feel like there’s a lot more to say that isn’t specifically about the combined poetic qualities of powersliding, DPM, and dispersion on the move.






You don’t know me, but I see you

I am in my Ru

Are you gliding, across the terrain

they way I do?


You’ll see me

when I hit you

when I surround you

like I can do

in my Ru


You say ISU?

With a 152?

My Ru don’t like you

my armour

is see-through


I could tell you

all about my Ru

but if you had half a brain

I won’t have to

you would drive one too.





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