• Had a bite of a sweet pear
• Once or twice opened the door
• Played a game of solitaire
• Wiped the floor
• Logged to Facebook in and out
• Opened TV, checked the score
• Stole a sip of the Milk Stout
• Coughed, wiped the floor
• Did I call mom once or twice
• Had to wash, such a chore
• Cooked chicken and some rice
• Spilled soup, wiped the floor
• Read a chapter of T.H.U.G,
• Black Lives Matter, think I'm sure
• Felt cold, made some tea
• Spilled a drop, wiped the floor
• Wrote a poem, bulleted it
• About the chores, what a bore
• Not again, couldn't believe it;
• Spilled some brain, wiped the floor
My Blood
Splendid soldier you
I'm merely your descendant
barely fit to footstep follow
I'm discipled , My kindred hero
Foreign soils desperately dank
Churchillian's major tactical outflank
Death by bulleted blight
Bastard German bight
Evil eradication in Holland's nether land
Liberation free , Guaranteed
Twas his life he gave
Home to a war hero's grave
Death knell to heroic soldier blue
And maybe I'm a tad bitter 'tis true
My Blood lost his life to a gameplan
After all what's a medal without the man
Martyn Grindrod
My tribute to my Grandad
William Fred Grindrod
20/12/1918 - 30/11/1944
Who would have been 100 years old today.
When we were young we went to the fair
With our brothers and our sisters
We tilted on the Tilt-a-Whirl
And we twisted on the Twisters
We bulleted on the Bullet
And quite dizzy we would feel
But my stomach always turned and turned
When I rode that Ferris Wheel
We'd go to get some eats
Some pizza or spare ribs
They were always so darn good
We'd go back for second dibs
Candy apples with coconut
Were always fun to eat
And so was cotton candy
But they both were very sweet
We played the fifty-fifty
And we raffled for the car
We drank beer under the tents
And we ate clams at the bar
The spinning wheels were fun to play
But they were hard to win
Victor the bear was tough to wrestle
But someone beat him with a pin
Monsignor Wilus ran the show
And he was usually there
So thanks to him He brought us all
The good ole Iselin fair
I'm teary eyed as I enter the again
Throwing listening ears to no ones gain
Innocence of all now bearing the same pain
One wonders, shall it ever abstain
We read in the papers we see on the news
Bulleted missiles affect like they cruise
No longer does it matter whom they abuse
All of all now lie in amidst littered fuse
Roadside bodily attired devices born
Wanton deliberate turmoil is their storm
This is definitely no Children of the Corn
When one approaches, shall a cuddle adorn
Eyes never close others captured by light
Impressions of death whilst sight blights
Peripherals of demise so different from before
It's minus one against one, life's eventual score
We find ourselves cowering from their RPG's
Grown fighting men being brought to their knees
Kandahar is where we are so many miles from our homes
Trying to keep focused but inside we steadily roam
Incessantly we hear the zipping of bulleted lead
Invisible to the eye, for they can bring us near to dead
A silence suddenly falls amidst clouds of ashen grey
As we suffer a direct hit, modern man finally plays
In my peripheral I hear a scream, that I've never heard before
Then I hear a pleading by weaponry in maiming score
Upon the dust lifting, I view a blood stained earth
Limbless my colleague is, is what we're fighting worth
He's nineteen years old, so many miles from his home
His body torn and burnt, where does his mind now roam
"Medics, medics" now deafen the surrounding screams
Shell shocked we are, grown fighting men beside crimson streams
Our tour of duty is now over, us fortunate return to our kin
As we remember he, our fallen, and their roaming in us within
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php
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