This is a poem loosely based on my experiences as a soldier in Northern Ireland, specifically in South Armagh.
It’s a bright day in the Province
And Jack Frost is about
All’s quiet on watch
And then, There’s a shout
…
The roar of an engine
The squealing of tyres
Burning the tarmac
Like foul-smelling pyres
…
The police station’s gates
Are closed and locked tight
But the van doesn’t care
It’s in its death flight
…
A pale, frightened face
Is glimpsed through the glass
As it sped past the sanga
In its deadly last dash
…
It burst through the gates
With a rending of steel
Shouts of fear and warning
Rang out loud and clear
…
The soldiers inside
Back from a three-day patrol
Had just climbed into bed
When they heard the call
…
To gather their guns
And whatever they could
Flack jackets and boots
Then get out on the run
…
They ran up the road
And dived into a drain
With guns pointing outwards
Just like they’d been trained
…
Bomb disposal was called
Nearby streets were all cleared
As the chopper was landing
We all heard the jeers
…
Of the tricolour crowd
Which had gathered to see
The Death and destruction
That was meant to be
…
They sent in the robot
To have a first look
with its black rubber tracks
A camera and hook
…
As the robot drew near, the crumpled van roared
Air filled with flame and sharp steel
Brick dust, glass, and an internal door
To add to the squaddie’s ordeal
…
Three soldiers were injured that Christmas Eve morn
And a republican boy in the crowd
The police station? …. Well, it was gone in the blast
With three of its walls torn down
…
It’s an endless war, all in God’s name
Steeped in politics of the past
One day, we’ll get out of this game
Green and Orange … together … at last.
(God willing!!)
Any critique is warmly welcomed, as usual. If you don’t like it, please tell me why. If you do like it, let me know in the comments
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