It doesn’t all go together to well, art, poetry and guns. Somehow guns seem so out of place. This piece I did many years ago “Little Red” addresses what I think of as our darker side. It’s washed in blood, well red paint really, a wolf and a innocent little boy and girl. I’m not going to rant about it, guns. One thing though, when our forefathers wrote the constitution they didn’t have assault rifles. Did they? So it only makes sense that if we are to bear arms it be the kind of arms they had when the constitution was written—right? The truth is we live in a much different world now than our forefathers did because I don’t think they had AR-15 semi-automatic assault rifles back then!
This is a something my mother wrote many years ago;
Something about guns frightens me. Always has frightened me and I hate guns.
There seems to me to be no good purpose for guns. All they can do is kill.
Kill strong young men or kill soft, weightless birds or kill timid, big-eyed deer. And they kill impersonally, coldly, cruelly, finally—yes, finally.
And yet some men love guns. They lovingly clean them and polish them and load them and pull the trigger on them. And then they just as lovingly die by them.
by Carla Chlouber © Chlouber Estate
I guess she couldn’t have been more clear about how she felt about guns.