“Dunkirk – the forgotten heroes Channel 4 June 19th 2019 ( 51st Highland)



Old Soldier proudly stands
slow tears upon his furrowed skin
memories surfacing that for so many years
had been lodged in his heart deep within
he straightened, saluted with trembling hand
remembering old friends who would not yield
who fell, in streets, on rain swept beaches
on those entrenched and foreign fields
on the immaculate earth he stood
between precision’d rows of  stones
each a name and age recording
once these were his comrades
who stood proudly on parade
now interred beneath white marble
commemorating palely
lives too early ended
so has he come
so do you see him standing
a long, long, shadow casting
over this green space this place
of quiet remembrance everlasting

shewereasnarrerasanarrer, but with cleavage to die fer
so she dressed in fancy spanks from Marks ‘n Sparks
‘cos she’d gorra job as earned hersen a bucketful of dosh
typing  jobsheets fer the Faktreh’s Senior Clerks
Now one parky Sat’dy neet,
our Peg the padgeowl chanced to meet
an Irish navvy wi a twinkle in ’is eyes
and ‘though Peg judged him as a Yokel
still she took ‘im dahn ‘er local
where they podged theysens
on stout and chips and pies
but Paddy got right larroped
‘as down the jit they galloped
and, chucklin’ sed  “now gisagleg
what’s behind them fancy skanks
did yer gerrem from them Yanks?”
but Peggy only showed a little bit o’ leg
but the navvy cut up ruff, and said “that’s nor ennuff!
I’ll ‘ave the rest – and I’ll ‘ave it right ere!”
but Paddy, tight jobber, never bought a dobber
and as weeks passed it soon became clear
to Paddy, the digger, that Peg’s waist  was gettin’ bigger
so, when Peg said, with a tear and a sigh
“There ain’t no bloomin’ daht
that you’ve got me up the spaht!”
Paddy skanked ‘er
- dahn the jitty - by and by!

coldly, oh so coldly
he told her that she was
no longer the love of his life
but that did not anything explain
as her tears felt like rain
for she still could only relate
to being forever his wife
for she could not shrug off that inescapable fact
that the engine of her love still turned
and that she still held a torch for him
and that the love that she bore for him
still deep within her burned

close your eyes to nightmares
that pause your breath with fear
as they beat out a fierce
and heavy tattoo in your heart
take their essence upon waking
lay it out, shred the essence of it apart
before your mind’s eye’s awakening
let the morning sun warm
it through and through
then trust and sleep again
and fill your mind with peace
anew

It is a fine, fine line
we use to place
good and evil apart
a fine, fine line
by a quill sharpened to
draw on vellum creamy white
a path hewn between
the road we should take
and the undergrowth of doubt
impenetrable and dense
and dark, so dark and deep
dream on it
draw in your mind
that fine, fine line
slide the golden nib of imagination
across the  parchment of your conscience
free and clear of prejudice
free of ideas preconceived
free of what others will
invariably choose to perceive
draw the fine, fine line
and use it as a guidance
for your continuance
the fine, fine line
free of suggestion’s nuances
draw or paint
with pencil, pen or brush
that fine, fine line
between the music of life
and Death’s deep, undreaming hush

Now only the heavy stickiness of sadness
adheres to her lips
she tastes bitterness
where once she tasted the
warm concoction
that was Love
she wipes her fingers
across her face
still hungry

words defining women that could never men define
passionate, tenacious, smart, brilliant, and unyielding
dedicated, caring, and
just
plain
fine