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Evie Hammond Jan 2016
Despair, mother, father of emotion
A raw intensity, a singularity
Exploding outwards, expanding into
Every pastel sentiment
Love's antimatter
Evil twin, yin yang
Just as love lace edged with despair
Despair runs threaded through with love
Like seaside rock once the season's dead and gone
Whispered ghosts of dreams
Of sunny days and might have beens
Gone all too soon
Of childhood summer memories
Simple pleasures at the time
Refocused under a lens of grief
Once bringing joy
Now heralds pain so exquisite
All other feelings rendered pale
Translucent echoes when compared
And with such brilliant intensity
Informs that you are still alive
At least for now
My dad called me. His doctor told him he has a cancer in his lung. This is our poem
Evie Hammond Oct 2015
Body broken from military service
Comrades gone or dead
Cast adrift in civvy street
I believed their lies. They said
They would take care of me
If service took its toll
They said there would be help for me
If nightmares sacked my soul
Instead I'm turned from door to door
My country has betrayed me
Now I'm used up, no longer fit
Youth gone to keep you free
You treat me like a burden
An encumbrance you don't need
Helpless anger bubbles
As I cut until I bleed
Anger turning inwards
As there's nothing I can do
Dulce et Decorum Est?
Is that really true?
Or is it simply if you live
A veteran you'll be
Outlived your use
A shattered wreck
Is all that they will see
The great and good
Who never served
Not even for one day
Huge great poppies they will wear
And stand and seem to pray
Yet turn their face away from you
A figure of disdain
Would be much more convenient
If you had been slain
Your country doesn't want you
Now you've served your use
They told such lies and you bought in
And now they cut you lose
So don't expect their help
And don't believe the lie
Your country only wanted you to
Do and then to die
It's how I feel. Accessing medical help is a nightmare as a veteran in the UK. This time of year there's Bonfire night with all its fireworks and then Remembrance Parades. All the local dignitaries remember once a year. For many of us every day is Remembrance Day.
Evie Hammond Aug 2015
Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power.

Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth.

And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression.

And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission.

How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.

I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense.

Alan Moore, V for Vendetta
From V for Vendetta. A remarkable tale filled with beautiful words.
  Aug 2015 Evie Hammond
Mike Essig
Written by Arlo Guthrie and Pete Seeger; adapted by Mike Essig.

Halfway around the world tonight
In a strange and foreign land
A soldier packs his memories
As he leaves Afghanistan

And back home, they don't know too much
There was just no way to tell
You know* you had to be there
To know that war was hell

And there won't be any victory parades
For those that's coming back
They'll fly them in at midnight
And unload the body sacks

And the living will be walking down
A long and lonely road
Because nobody seems to care these days
When a soldier makes it home

Somewhere in America tonight
In this strange and foreign land
A soldier unpacks memories
That he saved from Vietnam

They said it wasn't easy
Just another job, well done
Then the government in Saigon fell
To the sounds of rebel guns

And the faces of the comrades
Who were blown out of the sky
Leaves you bitter and disgusted
That they didn't have to die

The old men who planned that war
You know they all died safe in bed
With none of their rich and privileged sons
Ending up torn or dead

Back home they didn't know too much
There was just no way to tell
You know you had to be there
to know that war was hell

And there wasn't any big parades
For those that made it back
They flew them home in secret
and told them to make tracks

And the living were left walking down
A long and lonely road
Because nobody seemed to care back then
When a soldier made it home

The night is coming quickly
And the stars are on their way
As I stare into the evening
Looking for the words to say

That I saw the lonely soldier
Just a boy that's far from home
And I saw that I was just like him
While upon this earth I roam

And there may not be any big parades
If I ever make it back
As I come home under cover
To a world that can't keep track

Of the heroes who have fallen
Let alone the ones who roam
Guess that's why nobody seems to care
When a soldier makes it home
Arlo Guthrie and Pete Seeger wrote this poem long ago. All I did was adapt and update it. The words in italics are mine. You can hear the original on Youtube. Honestly, I think my version is better or at least more current.
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