COLOURS

They’ve gone of course the heroes gone.

Passed on through war or just woebegone, I

one time heard it said. Our military a history -

Charging Light Brigades of fearless men they’d

try to have it said – dressed in all the colours

of our chequered vanity at various parts of the

globe – job to some – and traditions of the family

to others – or needed tasks in challenged times, so

often in the foreign climes where blood was mixed

with sweat and grime. Only the ghostlier thoughts

remain in modern days at Barracks where the young

guys trained - swearing loyalty and grit – oh yes the spit

and polish too and all that shouting ballyhoo. Though

not forgetting drill and sand hills where the punishing

routines were exercised – and those who stood the

tests then forced to drag along the ones who’d

dropped from sheer exhaustiveness and oh the shame!

What stories of that gore the old boys used to tell us

about the sprogs unable to take any more by blowing

themselves apart. I do suppose that soldiering is an art

form known to better men than average guys who lack

a certain drive – the better men who eye-ball the foe

across a trench’s no-man’s-land, waiting for the whistle to

blow GO. For those who never made it back – I doff my cap.

◄ SEASONAL VEGETABLES

Comments

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poemagraphic

Sun 29th Dec 2019 23:20

An interesting read Philipos.

Very close to the truth in my personal humble opinion.

I love that word two lines in.. " woebegone " How very apt a word.

Very colourful poem indeed.
Many a cap and beret doffed Philipos
Po

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