Impact

 

https://wolfgarwords.com

 

The face is broke against the wheel,

diamond shard peppered flesh.

Now bloody pulp, once squeezed to life

between thighs of painful birth,

between creation of hope and the damnation of men.

 

Lips as blue as Iceberg Oceans

cannot one single word now form,

not one goodbye, no gratitude nor regret,      

no moment remembered, 

nor one remaining to forget.

 

Yet some sweet Mothers final kiss will brush against its brow, 

a child's unknowing memory

might reminisce somehow,

how once it held the world encompassed in a smile

before ever it was vacant before ever quite so vile.

◄ Fire gazing

Bolton Abbey ►

Comments

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Wolfgar Miere

Fri 1st Feb 2019 21:01

Just a quick specific shout out to Frances Macaulay Forde, good to see you around again.

David.

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Wolfgar Miere

Fri 1st Feb 2019 13:11

Thank you Mae,

and thanks to all those who sent flowers.

I found another poem called "I see you everywhere" written some time ago and with similar roots in conception.

https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=66188

Thanks again,

David.

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Wolfgar Miere

Fri 1st Feb 2019 01:19

Thank you Ray,

These are events which often raise up questions in me. In moments when I think I have problems or I am having a hard time I kick my own arse with these memories.

I am pleased I was able to use the word vile without it sounding disrespectful. I would also say there is serenity in death, even in its cruelest forms, I guess that comes from the idea of peace at last, who knows? Not me.

David.

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Mae Foreman

Thu 31st Jan 2019 20:35

Heart wrenching. The poem as well as the story behind it.
That's poetry; the exquisite "essence of life" that is distilled inside a person which drips, every once in a while; scarce, rare and precious.
Thank you 🎈
Mae

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raypool

Thu 31st Jan 2019 20:18

Without reading your explanation the effect of this poem is really remarkable. You have managed to incorporate so much into this that is like an onion unpeeled going deeper into the ruination at its core, but managing yet to be tender in the process. More amazing too that you related this event to me after the event with comparative calmness.

If you never wrote anything else, this could never fail.

Ray

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Wolfgar Miere

Thu 31st Jan 2019 16:21

Thanks Phil,

I realise that explanation may seem indulgent to some, someone on WoL asked me what was behind the piece, as I like to be honest I thought I would provide something of interest.

It was a fine example of waste and greed, to be honest their selfish and criminal actions put all our lives at risk, hence my anger. If I learned one thing (and I learned many) I came to understand that to fuck around with serious people on their territory is a very dangerous game.

There is still a belief that some of the chemicals provided to cut the heroin may have been tainted to eliminate the guys, (Afghans can get territorial like that) This may seem fanciful, but believe me it is not fanciful in that world.

As far as I am aware the autopsy carried out in Kabul was bogus, bloods came back clean. Also all body fluids where drained and formaldehyde was introduced to the cadavers prior to them being repatriated, this would negate the possibility of any subsequent autopsy/investigation revealing anything of concern or interest, or which may embarrass any corporate or government agency.

What a fucking world we live in, I love it.

Thanks again,

David.

These men and those around them have been consigned to history, their stories never known or told.

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Phil Kay

Thu 31st Jan 2019 09:48

What heartbreaking reality! Thats heavy shit to carry, not least because of the length of exposure you was subject to. And knowing the truth and being so impotent. Its all such a sad waste which you captured well despite the offside approach mate.

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Wolfgar Miere

Thu 31st Jan 2019 07:29

Thanks Stu, Rachel and Phil, very much appreciated.

I wrote this initially in an unaware and perverse way about an event which happened in 2016 whilst I was working in Kabul. I realised only half way through putting it together that I wasn't really talking about the victim of a Road Traffic Accident I had attended whilst a young Police Officer in the early 1980s in the UK. Instead the image I kept seeing was that of two former colleagues of mine who died in dubious circumstances Afghanistan.

The details don't really matter but I'll explain some just to give context. Two colleagues were found dead in one room, I found them having had to break into a room after they had failed to arrive for work. They had both died of drug overdoses, it was not suicide and it seemed to be accidental. It transpired that they may have been involved in criminal activity whilst performing other legitimate duties required on their contract. It seemed they had been cutting Heroin with Ritalin and several other products locally available, whilst testing the product something had gone fatally wrong. I had little sympathy for them but deep regret and much anger, they were still my colleagues no matter how stupid they had been, anyway that was that (Although I had known one for about four years I am very selective about those I call friends)

The situation was extremely delicate as such behaviour by foreign nationals in Afghanistan is routinely exploited by the authorities. My Country Manager called in a friendly Afghan Police Commander to undertake a hurried and sham investigation. However that did not initiate until at least 14 hours later, some delicate manoeuvrings had to be undertaken before any Afghans were permitted onto the site. 

I remained alone with the bodies until arrangements were made to get things moving. I spent 12 hours with them and watched them turn pink to red, red to purple, purple to blue...then begin to blacken. Throughout that time I thought about many things, As I mentioned I had known one of them for four years and one for a much shorter time, both had been successful British Soldiers in their younger days, I wasn't really close to either. During that time I found myself talking to them, probably for comfort more than anything else. It was a very strange situation. Unfortunately both had been married and both had children, to make things worse their mobile phones were ringing. I could see the names of those calling on the screens of the handsets. The ringing became frantic the longer time went on, I could see the first texted words of each message on screen but obviously I did not respond. At this point no-one had been informed, I doubted that my company had even informed the Embassy, the circumstances would have destroyed all their precious contracts and most likely put someone in jail.

That is where the thoughts and the sentiment in the poem come from. Whatever they had done, however grotesque that situation was, however putrid they became they were someone to somebody else. No matter what damage they had done, no matter the impact on everyone else they were still someone else’s sons, husbands and fathers…now these empty vessels.

The whole situation became corrupted and corporately delicate. We had to facilitate repatriation to the UK and South Africa without causing a major political scandal. I was kept sterile from any meetings. I subsequently discovered a large amount of money was involved in keeping things discreet.

Not more than eight weeks later that project was completely destroyed by hostile Taliban action, another nightmare story.

Some months later I found myself in the offices of a major international news agency speaking with the journalist who broke the Snowden story. Ultimately this story was of no interest to him or his paper, I think it was too remote at that point to be invested in, the impact and interest had evaporated.

So I think in a way this piece of writing is about ridding myself of that shite and almost making a confession. To this day I have made no attempt to ascertain what the families were told about the circumstances of their kins death, I dread to think.

Impact causes so many ripples and it just keeps on going, Impact seemed to fit the poem as I centred it around a traffic accident. But the images I used were the ones I described here. The impact of their deaths still impacts me to this day, it has impacted this very page.

This comment has expanded from the text of the poem but I feel that somehow makes the point about impact.

Forgive me my ramblings, life eh?


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Phil Kay

Wed 30th Jan 2019 23:02

David... this hit me between the eyes on a personal level as the first (of too many) bodies I saw was that of a crash victim in a green mini, before seatbelt whose face had smashed against wheel and screen. I recall the blue lips and broken face.
I wish someone could have read this for him then... I was but six but now imagine a service and your words bringing solace.

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elPintor

Wed 30th Jan 2019 19:18

Hi David,

Several months ago, while listening to an NPR program about death and its profound effect upon the living, I heard a description of the tenderness with which people beheld loved ones who were rendered beyond recognition by the conditions of their death.

I tried to find the program because it was so well put together--I'm sure you would find it so, too. Anyhow, your post is emotionally affecting in much the same way.

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Stu Buck

Wed 30th Jan 2019 13:18

powerful stuff david but a hopeful last verse which i feel works very well

hope your well matey, i'm snowed in!

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