My anger today is silent
It is beyond rage and ranting.
It is my fist through a door on the other side,
fractured but healing itself
It is the blasted walls of my room scattered around my feet,
And I’m standing in the Sun, still alive.
It is a closed door opened to find dead friends behind
their peaceful faces purple and putrid,
It is the darkness of a room in which I sleep and dream,
of lucid night flights to place’s never seen
It is absent weeks and months not knowing who I was,
Slowly opening my eyes, the bandages coming off.
It is answering questions offered by machines about my health,
Folding the blade shut, putting the glass down.
My anger today is in every single cell
So terrifying is its silence it becomes a living Hell.
He’s Marching now,
still marching now
Pants stained with piss
And bayonets fixed.
He’s Marching now
A British Soldier
From Bandon Town.
From fearsome fighter
To sad old bloke.
Those Mau Mau bastards
are at the door,
Not scared of colonials
Standing too for the evening news,
DMS boots now paper shoes.
No Ration packs, he gets to choose
Liquidised dinner laced with booze.
Came back home to drive a bus
raised four kids, made no fuss,
Never spoke of jungle fires,
Pulling nails, or necklace tyres.
But when the twilight touched his mind
it brought back what he’d left behind,
And his last stand was made alone
behind the lines in a British Care Home
Woven straw of string tied doll
hanging from a farmers post,
pin-pricked, spat on, cursed by all,
once a life, now more a Ghost
Fumbling’s of the foulest feast,
Whispered threats to Promise Keep.
These Woods belie a Darker Beast
And far to go before you sleep.
Touch the corn to feel the Pain
the Hearts that Beat here share no Tongue,
Though they’ll recall from whence you came
to tell it all, but just for fun
You are of Flesh and not the Grain
your Harvest spoiled was Salted Tears,
The Scythe that Swept will Cut again
that None be spared their Childhood Fears
Take an Axe to Mighty Tree,
With Metal-Head and Oaken Shaft
bring it low so all can see,
Natures force cut down by craft.
Diluted Power, Wielded Wrong,
Honed and Whittled, Skinned and Boned
Brings us back where we belong
The Savage Garden, lost, alone.