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POEMS PATRIOTIC REMEMBRANCE IN MEMORIAM MISSING YOU
Again to fight for country proud and true, with honour, pride, sent on a plane, again and again and again. The politicians have another raise, yet lacking equipment go our brave, to fight and fight and fight in vain, again and again and again. Two world wars were not enough and their great grandsons have it tough, from unseen enemy hiding, lain, again and again and again. Young lives taken though given with pride, the things they cared for put aside, for a government cause we all disdain, again and again and again. The massive transports fly our sons, and daughter’s home to their loved ones, waiting patiently in veils of rain, again and again and again. A silent tear falls from the eye, as the hearse’s pass us by, through a village racked with pride and pain, again, and again and again. Then laid to rest in peace reposed, honoured by all, no photo’s posed, while we try to ease the parents pain, again and again and again. The list grows longer day by day, forgotten not our soldiers brave, God let peace come to our domain, again and again and again.
SOS in Afghanistan
Where do you really stand? On the war in Afghanistan Do you support this foreign war? Or could diplomacy have done more?
Of one thing I am really sure Our airmen, marines and army corps Are doing the best job that they can To up hold democracy in that distant land
All those men would rather be home Even listening to their family moan Than fighting with the Taliban In that hell of burning sand
One last thing that I must tell We must support their families as well It must be hard to hide in your brain That perhaps you’ll not see a loved one again. © Derrick Potter 2009
I wouldn’t be a soldier I wouldn’t be a soldier, fighting in a hole I wouldn’t be a soldier, acting like a mole I wouldn’t be a soldier, standing on parade I wouldn’t be a soldier, hearing that tirade I wouldn’t be a soldier, crawling in the sand I wouldn’t be a soldier, bayonet clutched in my hand I wouldn’t be a soldier, bad memories to reflect I wouldn’t be a soldier, but I’d give them my respect I was a simple Sailor; I know this may sound thick All the time spent on the sea, it always made me sick. © David Killelay
Grenadier I saw your programme on the TV Your fight to keep the Afghan free Your intended tasks rebuild the Town Not deadly fire with men pinned down Nor tracer fire and bullets whine Adrenalin rush up and down the spine No Palace guard as in the rhyme Just desert sand of modern time Not for you large armoured tanks Good men and true to guard your flanks No thanks from home must make you sore Stuck out in the heat, a forgotten War You ask you’re self? why did I come home Whilst your buddies soul, abroad doth Roam Gone the glory, Gone the Fame Put in your place, they would feel the same It’s normal to have feelings deep inside Ignore the doubt, Carry on with pride Take a break and have a beer Remember you’re a Grenadier From a simple ex sailor born in 43 You have respect and thanks from me. © David Killelay
FIELDS
Military Covenant It just the same when our governments fail Whether in Iraq or Pashendale Lack of equipment or armoured jeep A review of support, Words are cheap Inquest held within our shores Don’t make a fuss, it’s behind closed doors A short inquest, let time pass Kick the issue into long grass No air conditioning or medical staff Run out of tablets are they having a laugh? Jet lagged, given gun poorly maintained Then sent off, to the firing range Lack of sleep, but in good health Can’t be fate that he shot himself Land rovers blown up on roads dark and pitted We have an electronic device, but of course it’s not fitted.
Ten men lost, no longer to come home Because they lacked, explosion-suppressant foam 'Systemic failure in the chain of command' Is this why our men die? In a hot foreign land ©David Killelay
An Advent Prayer Lord, We adore you because you brought us this time of the church year, the beginning of a new church year and the first season, Advent. And that you brought us Christmas the time of your giving in human form given birth by the maiden Mary. And we are sorry for not thinking hard enough about the real meaning of Christmas, that we just think about the presents to give and receive. And we are sorry that we do not pray enough so instead we’ll pray more. Also we thank you for giving your son Jesus Christ and also for the Holy Spirit to be with us, whenever we are sad, lonely or in time of need, so thank you for giving the greatest gift of all Jesus Christ. Finally we ask you humbly to give people peace for Christmas throughout Iraq and Afghanistan and for there to be no fighting at all, so please help those people survive in those two wars and try to stop the fighting please. Amen Written by David, age 9
Long Lost Tears I held the rabbit in my arms today and cuddled it as it was put to sleep ©Peter Southern
Eyes of a Veteran
Take a look into the eyes of a veteran and tell me if you are able to find ©Peter Southern
One Lonely Soldier
One lonely soldier With a pen in his hand Writes to his family From a far off land The words he writes Come straight from his heart Still he hopes they don’t show How he’s falling apart Haunted by nightmares Of recent attacks So called martyrs Bombs strapped to their backs Visions of comrades As he closes his eyes Injured and maimed His ‘brothers’ who’ve died He’s seen so much Whilst on his tour He knows in his heart He can’t take much more! His mum reads his letter She breaks down in tears For between each word written She can feel her son’s fears She sits at the table To begin her reply As the words unfold The tears fall from her eyes Son you are human We all have our fears And even brave soldiers Are allowed to shed tears Those demons inside you Together we’ll fight Then at least then my darling You can sleep soundly at night Stay strong now son Please keep your head low I know you are hurting I’m a mum and I know You’ve done your duty You’ve given your best You’ll be home soon For your well earned rest You know we’ll be waiting When you arrive home And you’re in our hearts always Son, you’re never alone So until your tour ends We send all our love And we’ll pray that the Angels Protect you from above © Michaela Turner (aka Kale) proud mum of a serving soldier R n R Home at last, bags in hand With a smile upon his face A well earned break, some R and R From that God forsaken place Bags abandoned, to the fridge he goes Looking for goodies to scoff You smile as you watch him fill his face A resemblance of a pig round a trough With belly full, its shower time next Bathroom no longer free For what seems like hours in that room he dwells How dirty can he be? He appears again, sparkling clean In nothing but boxer shorts “Make us a brew mum, will you please?” “Not forgetting the biscuits of course!” So there he sits in his favourite chair With his pint pot brew and biscuits Contented sighs as he downs three at once You know how much he’s missed it Television on, remote in hand Channel hopping time has begun Flick, flick and flick some more Searching for something fun Disney Channel, Top Gear Last of the Summer Wine Laughter fills the house once more At last you know he’s fine Family arrives, to welcome him home His stories now he tells You sit and you listen and try not to cry For you know he’s been through hell Tea time next, his belly is rumbling “What’s to eat?” he says You look in the fridge and everything’s gone So it’s off to the shops… happy days! Shopping all done, you head for home His favourite meal you cook He devours his food then asks for more Without a second look Night time comes round, he settles down In the comfort of his own home You look at him and smile with pride As he catches up with mates on the phone Then he’s off to bed to get some kip In his comfortable bed he lays “I’m glad I’m home I’ve missed you all” Then “Good Night God Bless” he says Day breaks through a peaceful night He’s still sleeping like a child You want to wake him but change your mind Just let him sleep for a while Almost noon, there’s movement above Breakfast he will need Full English cooked with everything on For your hungry soldier you feed He eats his meal, each mouthful cherished “That was great” he says Then he’s off upstairs to find his dad To plan what to do that day Dad’s smiling again, his soldier is home His right hand man is back They’re off to the shed to disappear Amongst the junk and tack Lunch time comes, they both appear Covered in muck and grime They’re chatting and laughing and larking about Just having a bloody good time Washing next, you open his bag Repelling away from the smell You wonder how long it’s been since last washed You ask him but he can’t tell With clothes at arms length and a peg on your nose It’s off to the laundrette you go The attendant looks on with a frown on her face But do you care? oh no! The washing is done, or so you think It smells better than it did before You reach the house and there he is With another pile, he’s found some more! “Don’t worry mum, I’ll do it myself” “Like heck you will” you say “Just leave it there and it will be done Sometime later today” So for two whole weeks, your routine is broken Nothing is quite the same But you don’t care for your soldier’s home At least ‘til he goes back again That day comes round, you hurt inside But do not let it show Stay safe my love, come back real soon As on that plane he goes He’s back in hell, your worries return In your prayers each night you say “Dear Lord above; keep my soldier safe Please bring him home soon” you pray Before you know it, he’s home again Golden brown tan on his face His tour is over, you thank heaven above He’s out of that terrible place
© Michaela Turner (aka Kale) proud mum of a serving soldier
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