Analysis of Bullets

Edward Dyson 1865 (Ballarat) – 1931 (Melbourne)



As bullets come to us they're thin,
They're angular, or smooth and fat,
Some spiral are, and gimlet in,
And some are sharp, and others flat.
The slim one pink you clean and neat,
The flat ones bat a solid blow
Much as a camel throws his feet,
And leave you beastly incomplete.
If lucky you don't know it through.

The flitting bullets flow and flock;
They twitter as they pass;
They're picking at the solid rock,
They're rooting in the grass.
A tiny ballet swiftly throws
Its gossamer of rust,
Brown fairies on their little toes
A-dancing in the dust.

You cower down when first they come
With snaky whispers at your ear;
And when like swarming bees they hum
You know the tinkling chill of fear.
A whining thing will pluck your heel,
A whirring insect sting your shin;
You shrink to half your size, and feel
The ripples o'er your body seal,
'Tis terror walking in your skin!

The bullets pelt like winter hail,
The whistle and they sigh,
They shrill like cordage in a gale,
Like mewing kittens cry;
They hiss and spit, they purring come;
Or, silent all a span,
They rap, as on a slackened drum,
The dab that kills a man.

Rage takes you next. All hot your face
The bitter void, and curses leap
From pincered teeth. The wide, still space
Whence all these leaden devil's sweep
Is Tophet. Fiends by day and night
Are groping for your heart to sate
In blood their diabolic spite.
You shoot in idiot delight,
Each winging slug a hymn of hate.

The futile bullets scratch and go,
They chortle and the coo.
I laugh my scorn, for now I know
The thing they cannot do.
They flit like midges in the sun,
But howso thick they be
What matter, since there is not one
That God has marked for me!

An Eastern old philosophy
Come home at length and passion stills,
The thing will be that is to be,
And all must come as Heaven wills.
Where in the swelter and the flame
The new, hot, shining bullets drip;
One in the many has an aim,
Inwove a visage and a name,
No man may give his fate the slip!

The bullets thrill along the breeze,
They drum upon the bags,
They tweak your ear, your hair they tease,
And peck your sleeve to rags.
Their voices may no more annoy,
I chortle at the call:
The bullet that is mine, my boy,
I shall not hear at all!

The war's a flutter very like
The tickets that we took from Tatt.
Quite possibly I'll make a strike;
The odds are all opposed to that.
Behind the dawn the Furies sway
The mighty globe from which to get
Those bullets which throughout the day
Will winners be to break or slay.
I have not struck a starter yet

The busy bullets rise and flock;
They whistle as they pass;
They're chipping at the solid rock,
They're skipping in the grass.
Out there the tiny dancers throw
Their sober skirts of rust,
Brown flitting figures tipping toe
Along the golden dust.


Scheme ABABCDCCE FGFGHIHI JXJXKAKKA LMLMJNJN OPOPQRQQR DEDESTST TUTUVWVVW XYXYZ1 Z1 2 B2 B3 4 3 3 4 FGFGDIDI
Poetic Form Tetractys  (20%)
Metre 11011111 11001101 1101010 01110101 01111101 01110101 11010111 0111001 11011111 01010101 110111 11010101 110001 01001101 110011 11011101 010001 11011111 1110111 01110111 110100111 01011111 0101111 11111101 010101101 11010011 01011101 010011 11110001 11101 11011101 110101 11110101 011101 11111111 01010101 1110111 11110101 1111101 11011111 01111 11010001 11010111 01010101 110001 11111111 011101 11110001 11111 11011111 111111 11010100 11110101 01111111 01111101 10010001 01110101 10010111 1010001 11111101 01010101 110101 11111111 011111 11011101 110101 01011111 111111 01010101 01011111 11001101 01110111 0101011 01011111 11010101 11011111 11110101 01010101 110111 11010101 110001 11010101 110111 11010101 010101
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 2,715
Words 534
Sentences 25
Stanzas 10
Stanza Lengths 9, 8, 9, 8, 9, 8, 9, 8, 9, 8
Lines Amount 85
Letters per line (avg) 25
Words per line (avg) 6
Letters per stanza (avg) 216
Words per stanza (avg) 53
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Submitted on August 03, 2020

Modified on March 05, 2023

2:43 min read
3

Edward Dyson

Edward George Dyson was an Australian journalist, poet, playwright and short story writer. He was the elder brother of talented illustrators Will Dyson and Ambrose Dyson. more…

All Edward Dyson poems | Edward Dyson Books

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