#1944
Himself a machine,
Like a cool train
Like a moving rollercoaster
Like a ravaging mechanical animal
Iron oil and rust,
Pulsating boiling blood
Bursting brilliantly.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
The young German prisoner
has lost a leg
and lies on a bed
with the stump bandaged
a mixture of white and red.
You tend him
with what you have
and with what
little German
you know.
Other patients lie about
with others standing
by the door
waiting to be seen
with minor wounds
in flesh or head
and others
their faces covered
are the dead.
You take a break
and stand outside
for a smoke.
The rain has stopped
and a dull mist
hovers over the way.
You hear the guns
carried on the wind.
Tanks pass by
and up the road
and soldiers move
in the rear
with their guns
and gear.
You finish the cigarette
and flick
the **** away.
Two more have died
their faces covered.
Another young soldier
lies nearby
his head bandaged
hands aquiver
finger missing
calling for his mother
in child-like cries.
Over the other side
another dies.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
Stark horror
at what he'd seen.
No glory in that butchery
he'd just seen
a few miles back.
There was a silence
amongst them
heavy and subdued.
Just the *****
***** of boots.
Shouts of "Move on
keep going."
How to square with any
conscientious voice
he didn't know.
Seemed to have been there
a day or more.
One woman clutched
a dead child
to her dead breast
nearer to the road.
Others were further off
but still visible
piled like dead cattle.
None will speak of that.
It will be placed amongst
the unspeakable.
There was shelling ahead.
Gunfire and tat-tat-tat
of machine guns.
He readied yourself.
No birds sang.
Even the wind
had gone.
His finger itched
on the trigger.
Back home he guessed
his wife had taken
the kids to school
unless the school had gone
in the recent bombing.
The soldier in front
was the one
who lent him a cigarette.
Somethings
you do not forget.
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
The young soldier was dying.
You had done all you could
for him but to no avail. He
muttered words urgently as
if had wanted to unburden
himself before it was too late.
You leaned closer to him but
the words were too soft and
looking at you he died. You
closed his lifeless eyes and
moved to another older his head
bandaged blood seeping through.
Others assisted over the way
dressing wounds. You were tired.
The day had begun badly. Bodies
of the dead lay to one side no
more to be done for them. The head
wound was bad and bleed profusely.
You did the best you could with
what you had. Tanks moved past
along the road. Soldiers marched
past gazing at you in the tent with
the wounded. Far off gunfire sounded.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
It was a blood bath,
you had no other concept
than that, the beach bloodied,
the waves lifting the bodies
of the dead soldiers up further
on the shore, then lifting them
back towards the sea again,
the constant sound
of machinegun fire, explosions
of shells or mines, cries
of the wounded and dying,
and you attempting to help
the ones lying there,
with whatever medical aid
you could, ducking gunfire,
hearing the whistling bullets
passing by or the sickening
thud of smacked bodies,
the sense of Hell, smell of sin,
sight of death and destruction,
and you there, one amongst
so many, knowing far away
other people in peaceful places
get on with their lives in their
day to day way, unlike these
others and you on this bloodied
beach and untranquil bay.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:25 AM UTC
You stand on the beach,
a brunette,
in that flowered dress,
that look of wonder
on your face,
staring at the photographer
as he holds his camera at you,
the shoes making footprints
in the yellow sand,
the flannel trousers,
the white open-neck shirt,
his hair close cropped.
It is just before
he goes off to war,
off to England
for some big deal
going on over there.
You have your hands
at your sides,
trying not to break
into a smile,
trying to keep
a serious pose.
You wish he would get on
with his photo taking;
that he'd put the **** camera down
and come over to you
and hold you
and kiss you,
but still he waves a hand
to hold the pose.
You stare at him
with your serious face,
but deep inside
something feels wrong:
another beach,
and him there lying
in the sea,
blood about him,
and far far from you.
You look away
at the deep deep blue.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC