tagNon-Erotic PoetryGone For A Soldier

Gone For A Soldier

byShamanskiss©

{I think most will hate this. I am not going to gove it a fancy background. It just ‘got’ written. No edits, rewrites, or reworking. It probably breaks any rule in existence. I wont try to cover that by saying its stream of consciousness or any such thing. Like I said, it just got written, as it came, bad language included in the price.}


Summer’s gone,
It seems lost behind life so brief,
Innocence fallen,
Slain by experience, that costly thief.

No time to further script our play,
No time to sit,
The job’s kicked off,
And I’m neck deep in deepest shit.

Noise, and stink.
Confusion reigns,
I should pen a verse,
Oh fuck is that Jimmy’s brains.

More red veined white than blood shot grey,
That is a surprise.
Can’t see his face,
Can’t make out mouth or nose or eyes.

When we trained, they just took the piss.
Not one solitary bastard said it’d be like this,
Cant think,
Cant plan,
Cant dodge and weave.
Fuck all that
I cant FUCKING BREATHE.

Fast , it scans like some steroidal flick,
overdriving on speed,
I really need to be sick.
All faces turned, asking what to see.
Just do it, don’t keep fucking asking me.
We’re taking heavy,
From some 50’d cunt.
Who’s got willypete?
Come on. Punt punt punt…..

All cover’s blown,
Just one long roar.
The sound filling your eyes ,
With noise you saw.
Oh bollox,
Sarn’t Learys down,
What a fucking shitty blow,
That bastards here to teach me all I need to know.
The games afoot, a shitting silly thought,
How can I give orders,
I haven’t been properly taught.

This should be smooth, and neat and slick.
Oh god looks like Danno’s lost his dick.
He’s caught the one we all fear most,
And fucking’s become the holiest ghost.
Please god.
Not that,
Anywhere but.
The arm, a leg, my head, my gut,
But please please please sweet lord,
If you hold any sway,
Don’t take my wedding-tackle,
Let me play on and play.

That 50’s going to fuck our butts,
The noise alone could drive you nuts.
It’s barking like a rabid dog,
Its smoke a stinking cordite fog.
Got it,
Saw its muzzle’s fanning ‘wave,
The air blasting, roiling , telltale dust,
That seven foot belch marks a pending grave.

Jenkins sees me point and nod,
He unships his ‘laws…
‘Now gang-fuck the sod.
That little plastic throwaway pipe,
Spits flame arse-backwards red and ripe,
A farted nasty little ball flambés racing burning air,
And a second later,
That 50’s gone, whoosh, jusss’ like tha’ huh huh, no longer there.
Instead I see a gaping hole,
A way in,
A suddenly safer means to score a goal.

Their eyes are on me,
I point and punch,
Go go go its almost lunch.
A run and slam against the wall,
Shadows, fleeting, move one and all,
Some weapons raise, some weapons sling,
So freed up hands might pull pins and fling.
In they go through every hole,
And we turn away
To dodge the sudden toll.

What a chorus,
Sudden blasts,
Shockwave, hot, goes tearing past,
Clatter, shrieks and metal rattle,
As flechettes and steel ball abbreviate battle.
Its less terror now,
Now they’re fragged,
At least getting in is in the bag..

In teams,
Cover , run ,shoot, run,cover and shoot.
Thank Christ we’re free of NBC suits,
Its hot as fuck and hard to breathe,
Don’t want to do this ready bagged in a carbon charcoal weave.
A face ,
A fraction, brief in space,
A treble tap,
Red clouding a suddenly made vacant place.
Fuck me, my mind my soul absent,
I didn’t even think,
Taptaptap Just 3 rounds I spent.
Sweet fuck, that was a man y’know,
But he aimed his AK.
Tappatap tap Fucker had to go.
Where’s the shame?
Where’s the guilt?
Where’s the stain? of new blood I’ve spill’t.
That’s a joke a fucking sick joke,
It could’ve been me,
Far better for me it’s some other blokes.

Stuttering sound
Upstairs loud gail smashed canvas rips,
They’re panicked, loosing off full clips.
hugging pock-marked walls we pause,
and pattern spot,
we wait and judge
then go in hard , weapons free, and hot.

I ripped off 3 ,
Still Got 27 more,
That’s all I’ll need to start it, I kick the door,
Tap him, cap him, two more, to lift my frown.
The wall spits, splinters plaster,
Where’s that twat, the next I need put down,
Over down behind that crate, the walls are spewing men, AK’s , and hate,
Tap and tap and tap again, the tally’s six, just targets , not men.
Aim, another starburst once a face.
Work it,don’t jerk it , NO , HANGFIRE, THAT ONE’S A MATE
Through the rooms we kick and storm,
Fragging tapping ever on,
Don’t want to kill,
That’s not in doubt,
One thought like the rest.
Just want to get out.
Its not about killing,
Not about pain,
I slap home a frsh mag, ‘rack it, go live again.
It’s not for heroes,
Not like a game
Its not bein’ a fascist
Or bein insane.
Its not about who should grow and thrive,
It ALL boils down to getting out alive..

Its must be over,
The clambering roar has gone.
Still feel sick.
Overpressure hurts, I need to pinch, snort, and yawn,
So tired,
But twitchin, adrenalin’s loose.
Moans and screams,
Let the medics choose.
Round up my lads. Police the downed
Fuck me that was hell, above the ground.

If they, some day, they ask me what and where,
What shall I tell?
‘Well sir’ says Quinlan, ‘you won we dared’.
I tell him, ‘don’t be so cocky,
I was way past fucking scared’
He laughs,
‘Sir, done this so long its no longer strange,
And being scared?
If you’re not section’ fodder , that’ll never change’.
I just held his eyes, daftly, as if to stare stone out,
Quinlan grinned and slyly looked about.
‘If you say I said this I’ll say you’re lyin, I’ll say, fuck you.
But as new Ruperts go, well Rourk me boy, you’ll do’.

Its not like Kipling,
Nor Owen, Sassoon, nor poor damned doomed Brooke,
Not epic ‘half a leagues,
No lyrical hooks,
Its not like bardic shot and shell,
Its not like hate,
Its fear,
Overcome,
Its simply dodging confused,
Fate.
Its not like that,
Not like this,
By now you think I take the piss.
What is it like,
I would tell you straight, then simply go.
But even after all these years at it,
I still don’t fucking know.

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byShamanskiss© 0 comments/ 1482 views/ 0 favorites

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