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Michael Mar 2019
Although I've served near thirty years,
Achieving rank high as can be.
I still remember first parade,
And sergeant starting feud with me.

We'd shuffled on parade in line,
Still yet to learn to dress our ranks;
Each nervous with anticipation,
While sergeant to the Lord gives thanks.

But now the time for first inspection,
Worried corporal standing nigh,
As sergeant moves on down our line,
Will he, won't he, pass me by?

In those days when just fifteen years
Yet five feet nine and very thin;
Cocky, full of verve and vim,
But not yet having shaved my chin.

So sense my fright when this grown man
With medal ribbons from the War,
Intent it seems on finding fault
Stops, stoops, then gives a roar.

I freeze with horror, sudden shock.
The corporal runs up with his book.
Do you see this? screams sergeant's voice.
A hairy chin, come take a look.

And they do, heads close together.
Both now peering at my chin.
Take his name the Sergeant murmurs,
Thus, I'm noted down for sin.

Black book closes, sergeant passes
And I think 'alright for some'.
But now he's shouting at another;
'Just you wait, I'll tell my mum'.
Michael Mar 2019
The Conclusion of a National Service Man

President Nixon's national flags campaign
  (incidentally rejected by the British Prime Minister Harold Wilson).

(contemn, origin: old French: contemner - to despise)

For us to go to war they lied,
And that is why we went and died,
To add our flag, with theirs to fly,
And no one thought to question why.
Conscripted, and we trusted them,
Never thinking they'd contemn their people.
Those then, who blindly cast their votes
Slaughtered us. We then, their sacrificial goats.
Warfare is an extreme. It should not be indulged lightly.
Michael Mar 2019
Once Upon a Time

Many years ago I trod lightly through the woods
Being careful not to crush the undergrowth with my feet;
Gently, pushing aside impediments to my progress
So as not to crush or bruise the soft, green foliage.
In those days to make a noise was dangerous.
So I trod quietly too.

Many years ago I carried on my back a pack
To stow essentials for my life: three days' food, ammunition,
A hootchy and water; were then thought sufficient for one’s needs.
On my waist I carried a compass, more water and hand-grenades.
In those days we used books to escape the woods.
So I carried one of those too.

But the essentials they weighed heavy on my back.
They hurt and made me clumsy, introvert,
Looking in instead of out which was dangerous.
So I lightened the load. Of course that was against the rules
But how else was I supposed to live?
I got rid of some food, the water from my pack,

     But not the book. I kept the book.
            And the hand-grenades.
Michael Mar 2019
Dappled sunlight danced
About your greasy, sweating body,
Oh! What fun.
It saved us shooting twice, and just as well,
For when we finally came your eyes were glazed
And staring at the Sun.
Michael Feb 2019
In the gloom of each day when it's dying
Standing to is the normal routine.
A time which I use for reflecting
On what we have done or we've seen.

It's the time, when my view blends with darkness;
And as daytime gives way to the night,
I review the way that we're working.
Are we doing this wrong or right?

Did Jim keep his distance from Stan at the creek?
Why Rod was stung by those bees.
And Frank, who found that crossing point
Despite its concealment by trees.

And the cache that we found on the high ground.
The call of a barking deer.
Searching that corpse before burying.
And asking why am I here?

Note:
Private Jim Kelly, national serviceman;
Private Eddy Stankowski, national serviceman;
Private Rod Menhennet, national serviceman;
Lance corporal Frank Chambers, national serviceman; and
Me.
Yuki Feb 2019
Like flowers in
soldiers’ guns
your shooting
left me unharmed
in the war between
both of our hearts
where all that remained
were the ‘love me not’
****** petals.
Salmabanu Hatim Feb 2019
I am your wife,
I do not have your courage,
I have a soul which cries,
Which is restless,
When you are sent on the Front Line,
Not knowing if you would return alive or dead.
And if you return home,
Wounded,scarred with traumatic
stress disorder,
I become not a wife nor your widow,
Just your caretaker,
My soul bleeds.
19/2/2019.
Daisy Feb 2019
I am here now
Amidst the ashes;
Away from the world's mystification.

Do not weep for me now
Remember my sacrifices;
My love, my life for the nation.

They reckon they've won now
They laugh, they celebrate-
Sad! they do not grasp the ramification.

Mother have lost her child now
Holding a grave ache in her heart.
And me- a fallen father for my girl and son!

Will I be avenged now!
Or end up like a long lost memory
Of honor and love for my country?

Will I be avenged!
Or end up as a tool in the game of politics
Between vultures clutching on the opportunity?
Hunger Feb 2019
Re-Living the dreaded scars,
While my friends slowly rot behind bars,
My mistakes that i have made,
I asked they be spared but God forbade,
He was carried of to Alcatraz,
While i sit here with scars on my wrist listening to jazz,
The crimes i commit,
The death i emmit,
I am sorry my dear friend for leaving you behind,
Your grave to me will always remind,
That day i looked back and saw nothing but blood,
As it flowed it looked like a flood,
Sorry for what happened but at least one of us are free,
And i promise from now on i'll be the best i can be.
Sorry I let You Die
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