"falklands" poems
A seventies child
Born in Wales, one of the four
Countries of The UK.
I remember brown as the colour
of the day.
Fabric embossed wallpaper
all the neighbours names, who married who,
who was carrying on, the alcoholic, the beaten wives,
Even, get this the peadophiles (or kiddy fiddlers as was known)
Dai the milk, Mair the bread, the shop of infinite items.
Rugby practice for dad, baking for mam
(Cake and babies) gossip over the garden hedge
Fish on a Friday a Sunday roast, hot sweet tea.
Bubble and squeak, post delivered before you
left for school. Mist on the mountain, dew on the grass.
Welsh valley life, sounds idyllic
but scratch the surface and a darker colour
than brown emerges. Petty squablings leading to
familial feuds, the Williamses don't get on with
the Joneses, and as for the Pritchards, less said the better.
School, local, no not for me. I was sent to a Welsh
School, taught and learnt the language denied to my
Parents by English politics. Cat amongst the pigeons there.
Did I think I was special? Ideas above her station. That's what
the neighbours say.
Well, you all had the option.
Dr Forbes FRCS
Delivered babies buried men and women
Loved by all, especially his lollipop sweets.
I wasn't a child to get ***** or rip wrapping paper
off of gifts, I liked to go under the stairs (like Harry Potter)
and read. I left the dirt for my sister born 4 years later.
Then in 1982 came my brother, tidy my mother describes it.
'74,'78,'82 poor dad to have to wait I say!
More pubs than chapels, more walking than driving
more rain than sun, more music than ever was sung.
The '80's came, and we had strikes, no electric, candles
toast made with a toasting fork over the fire.
No mines, no steel, no jobs.
Picket lines, dole queues, women in work
latchkey kids, Thatcherism, ******* times.
Falklands war, IRA bombs, Royal weddings
Tory rule
But, the fire in the dragon never went out
and Tom Jones still sings his heart out.
Cymru cysglyd gwlad y gân, deffrwch
nawr, dyma'ch tro.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Car packed and ready to go;
on leave so we thought but it wasn't so;
I suppose it wasn't just meant to be;
T Air Defence Battery was going to sea;
Across the south Atlantic Ocean;
Well at least that was the notion
One hundred and ten ships all packed to the top;
Commandoes, Paras, Guards, Ordinance, Artillery, the lot;
This is it lads. We're going to war;
But nobody knew, what was in store
And all those mixed up feelings inside;
Were **** near impossible for us to hide.
We landed at a place called San Carlos Bay;
In nineteen eighty two. On the twenty first of May;
To repel Argentine invaders from the Malvinas;
Anxious, proud and scared. You had to have seen us.
Across the Falklands, the Task Force did travel;
By air, sea and foot and not as a rabble;
Objective Port Stanley for the final shove;
First taking Tumble Down; Goose Green and Bluff Cove
We recaptured the Islands. They were British again,
And amid all the glory, cheering and pain;
We now look to peace for as long as we reign
And no more hostilities, that drive man insane
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:36 AM UTC
From the time he was a little boy
He wanted to be a soldier real bad
To wear big boots and a uniform
to look just like his dad
Although he'd never met the man
Many pictures had he seen
Of daddy as a soldier
being inspected by the queen.
There's a shoebox in the cupboard
With daddys medals and beret
And a letter Johnny never read
about how daddy passed away
The Falklands war was halfway done
but wars are always hell
and The Battle of Goose Green
is where Johnny's hero fell
As soon as he was old enough
despite his mothers pleas
Johnny joined the army
though she begged him from her knees
It seemed he was a natural
a born soldier like his dad
who looking down from up above
would be so proud of his lad
He had an honesty and integrity
that his advancement did effect
A natural heroic son of a *****
you could not help but respect
So when war came around again
this time in old Iraq
Johnny proudly did his duty well
not just the once, for he want back
28 years ago we said goodbye
almost to the day
this time we're here for Johnny
who war also took away
Johnny was my friend
a man I truly loved
No wife or children left behind,
his family's given enough
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
I think you got it wrong
You say Argentina we say not
You say Malvenas we say Falkland Isles
You say stole in 1830 how that makes me smile
For in 1830 you where Portuguese Not Argentine
You had no republic till 1860s time
So from whom did you steal the country you live in ?
Your history tainted and arguments thin.
Your country is in tatters so why not have a war!
Hang on the Junta tried that before!!
You will look great on TV as you rally the cry
ON TO THE FALKLANDS SO MORE SONS CAN DIE!!
The battle is over now govern your own
The Falklands are British so please stay at home.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
Next Fight
How easy is it for countries who are friends
To become enemies and go to war?
Like Britain and Argentina in the 80s
Argentina bought British warships
Their crews trained here in 81
But in 82 they invaded the Falklands
We were at war and we won that war
But hundreds on both sides were killed
This is one example of conflict
It can and will happen again
Who will we fight next?
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 4:02 PM UTC
ARMED ASSAULT FIGHTER
Small, agile and with awesome power, that’s the assault jet.
They do a specialist job, very dangerous and especially risky,
yet the pilots are proud and brave and they’re prepared to die for their cause,
their homeland, their squadron.
From the Skyhawk blooded in Vietnam, Israel and the Falklands to the Jaguar used so fiercely in two Gulf wars, it takes a special kind of pilot to attack a missile site and to fly so low.
Watch out for the ground! Hit that and you’re history.
It’s all pilot skill battling Migs and flying between valleys to the target area
if you hit the target you’ve still got to get home.
Yes, you certainly need ***** and a lot of skill to fly an assault jet.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
THE SOLDIER
Billy Clark was seventeen
When he went off to war.
He kissed his mum and dad goodbye
And walked out through the door.
He kissed his girl at the station
And wiped away her tears.
He said that he’d be back again
If it took a thousand years.
He headed for the trenches,
For Afghanistan.
Gallipoli, The Falklands.
Beirut and Vietnam.
He set off for Dunkirk,
Agincourt and Troy.
Passchendaele would make
A man out of a boy.
A million Billy Clarks
Have gone away to war.
Old men sit and shake their heads.
They’ve passed this way before.
He was in the thick of it
Right from the very start.
But Billy was a brave boy
With a patriotic heart.
Billy fought his hardest
But he was in a fix.
These were guns and tanks he faced
Not childhood toys and sticks.
Now, Billy was no coward,
But he was scared as hell.
No boy should have to bury
His comrades where they fell.
It took a thousand years
For Billy to return
And still the burning question is:
When will we ever learn?
When will this crazy world unite
And watch each others’ back?
When media screams the headline:
‘GREEN MEN FROM MARS ATTACK!!!!’.
A million Billy Clarks
Have gone away to war.
Old men sit and shake their heads
They’ve seen it all before.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 5:00 PM UTC