It's wednesday and I always hate wednesday. They are right smack in the middle of week, too far away from the weekend. Although why the weekend bothers me as I am working this weekend I don't know. But it is something about wednesdays - I always feel tired on a wednesday and want the day to be over. But sometimes I have really good wednesdays. I wonder what sort of wednesday I am going to have today?
Not much to say today so thought I would post another Spike Milligan poem.
Ulster, Derry 1972
When the only colour is black-
the only sound
the broken bell
Then talk to me about why.
By Spike Milligan
and another small untitled peice
GOD MADE NIGHT
BUT
MAN MADE DARKNESS
By Spike Milligan
I assume the first one was about the war in Northern Ireland and the second is just about man. Both seems so appropriate to the state this world is in 30+ years later. Somethings just never change.
The Sniper's Journal
I watched a program about Afganistan on TV this week.
It showed families morning their children and trying to make sense of it.
Trying to justify their deaths.
It showed a young man with death in his eyes telling us he is a sniper, telling us he has killed 19.
19 dead and written in his notebook because snipers keep count.
19 dead and written in his notebook because snipers keep a death journal.
And his father, who took him to a firing range to learn how to use his pistol before he went on service.
So he could teach his son to defend himself at close range.
His father was proud.
His father is a sniper too.
It's their family trade.
And it saved his son's life.
It saved his life the day he pulled his burning best friend from their bombed vehicle.
Another one to write in his sniper journal.
His sniper journal full of 19 dead, no names, no descriptions, just how he killled them and where. 19 dead in the snipers journal.
By Me
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