Category Archives: Modern War

Forlorn Hope

I call on our PM to stop it
Before I troop out there and cop it.

2013

 

Still commenting on one of our campaigns, this time Afghanistan.  Please note:  in the
British Army of the 19th Century, a detachment of  men would be chosen to make an
attack which all knew to be suicidal, thereby making it highly unlikely that any would survive. This detachment was known as The Forlorn Hope.

 

That Man Kelly

Forty-five minutes and we’re all done
Baked and frazzled like some currant bun.

That man Kelly, he’s to blame
His indiscretions a bloody shame.

He’s done it now, the suspected suicide
Nodding to the altar of another’s pride.

The political Magician, a-gleam with revelation
Certain in his piety as he dupes a doubting nation.

 

2007

 

Sniper Billy Sniped…..Dead There: Somewhere

Pray you, out here, somewhere, I have forgot me
Where may I find my precious, unlived, mislaid life?
When last I knew I sniped behind some plum tree
Billy-fear-not immune from this so clamorous strife.

Well, Billy Boy, our politicians a-dream with swanky glory
Have spent your life and gleam, unhindered by your puny fury.

But now I sense a stilly difference has become me
A starry loneliness and longing – Where is my girl?
Our sniping party looking strange in death, I see
Swift chattering hail swarmed and cut us to a swirl.

Well, Billy Boy, our politicians a-dream with swanky glory
Have spent your life and gleam, unhindered by your puny fury.

Where have I left me? My understanding is mis-matched
So disconnected, separate, shorn of love and living flesh
Blinded in twilight, a splintered dream is quite detached
And yet I half-remember children’s laughter in a crèche.

Well, Billy Boy, our politicians a-dream with swanky glory
Have spent your life and gleam, unhindered by your puny fury.

 

2007

 

Second Chance Encounter with the PM in a Crowded Pub

Ah! You still here?
It can’t be just the pleasant beer.
But as I was saying
Before those press boys came a-baying.
I’m sort of just a regular guy
With all that that then can imply.

Those Tories were a heinous crowd
In whom the country can’t be proud.
Our fortunes they had truly wasted
By sleaze, dishonoured and emaciated.
I’m sort of just a regular guy
With all that that then can imply.

A new dawn breaks from heaven’s east
And we shall all be newly policed.
A new dawn our children shall salute
Whence comes sweet sunshine unpollute.
I’m sort of just a regular guy
With all that that then can imply.

Don’t delve too deep for you may touch me
Cause me to wobble rather than to spin, see.
To rent and change this country, I’m avowed
With foreign fields awash and bloody bowed.
I’m sort of just a regular guy
With all that that then can imply.

 

2007

 

New Headstones

We must consider, in this august Committee
Designing headstones, more’s the pity.

Fit for splintered girls and headless boys
Who fought and died for one man’s ploys.

World War headstones won’t suffice
As they would cost too high a price.

All that carving and all that pride
Surely unnecessary, on the other side.

Something simpler, rather bland
To quell Death’s fury at a one-man band.

The skirmishing Committee, all slithering, make a plea
That they be granted absolution from the magician’s legacy.

 

Envisaging a committee, its belief in the war shot away, wishing to disassociate itself from the war in Iraq.

2007

 

The New Macbeth

How now, that in the sightless, mean and sooty night
I am besieged with visions that affright me
Choke me, throttle me with their easy might
And curse a dodgy war I waged so morally?

And marching regiments of boys now out of time
Chant and unnerve my drenched, dissembling heart
They brandish severed parts to demonstrate the crime
Wading through sandy blood as recriminations start.

This shameful outcome I neither sought nor wanted
Where prophesying hags reveal a folly and such incandescent rage
Not on some ancient heath where lineage was granted
But here in Britain now, my gift of nightmare to the present age.

Reawakened medieval passions lead to daily slaughter
A fractured, ruptured, broken zone where all can die
How my silken tongue bodes ill for son and daughter
When I heaped on warring Iraqis a democratic presumption and a lie.

 

2007

 

Twin Leaders

Strutting like fascists pumping hard, oozing pomp
Twin leaders, at twin lecterns now stiffly arriving
Muscle-bound mouthings from  twins on the stomp
Our language deformed with mis-facts so contriving.

Frozen smiles pucker lips seen on millions of tellies
While out there our lads fear lead in their bellies.

The leaders synthesize speeches with ranting rejoicing
Though casualties leap towards sickening highs
Hugely asleep to the grief millions are voicing
Swimming too deep in a tissue of lies.

Frozen smiles pucker lips seen on millions of tellies
While out there our lads fear lead in their bellies.

 

2007

 

156 And Counting

Another three, another three
Smashed boys have gone to heaven
While in the dirt and in the sand
There lie remains of someone’s hand.
Surely this isn’t what the PM planned?

And don’t forget the other boy
Maimed and weeping, deep in shock
Splattered with mucus, flesh and crap
Victims of someone’s little trap.
Will this, at last, make the PM snap?

Don’t hold your breath
Don’t think about it
Just thank the Lord that you’ve survived
You’ll see the lads on the other side.
Remember son, it’s the PM’s pride.

Your ears and scalp are now quite separate
Skin’s been torched and seems on fire
Those eyes of yours that once did shine so
“And shall I see my love again though?”
The Chaplain feared it must be “No”.

But when you’re back in Blighty, son
Don’t visit the Clinic with your uniform on
As you’ll offend those separate, sensitive folk
And could be judged you did provoke.
Your plans are dashed, and at a stroke.

Surely this wasn’t what the PM planned
As bullets rip through Iraqi sand.
O Master, lead us to the Promised Land!

This poem was written in July 2002.  Since when the British Forces deaths have accelerated and currently [10 Aug 2007] stand at 168…………..and counting!

2007