No,

all double spacing disappeared????????

Thank you Myrna,

AUTUMN in england usually drips and greys its way towards winter . Early frosts and fog bringing a promise of what is to come.

With summer's excesses over all is set for a tidy.

Just another Autumn Bonfire

© Roger Macdivitt, 2009

Neatly pruned shrubs reward labour

Autumn leaves, raked and collected

Twigs gathered from beneath the trees

Now lay tangled, like a nest, in the barrow

.

The collected rubbish now lies in a neat pile

Paper and dry wood from the shed

Matches ready, sharply struck

Tongues of flame now devouring the paper

.

The flames, like a myriad of serpents

Writhing, leaping and crackling through the pile

Appearing and disappearing, changing shapes

Collapsing and flaring up again and again

.

I stand back and watch

The flames changing colour

Paper burning yellow

The twigs producing reds and blues

.

The smoke hangs like a curtain in the damp air

Every tiny breeze grasping the smoke

And sending it whirling across the garden

Grey and white and black, stinging my eyes

.

Shapes continue to change, embers glow

The twigs and leaves in turn turning to white ash

Once again the wind forces a response

Leaves wilt and burn and curl

.

Now, as if to mimic a volcano

Hot flames burst through the centre

And as I stir the fire the debris feeds the flames

And cascading twigs tumble into the vent

.

Heat intensifies, flames leap

They seem to compete with the smoke

The air around seems to distort and move

Above the fire the very air seems to scorch

.

Once more smoke becomes dominant, as I add more to the pile

Sparks take to the air like insects

Burning leaves float and drift

Settling, burned and ashen, destroyed

.

Again, the breeze stirs the ash

It glows, burning the oxygen, leaving just ash

All that I supply is hungrily digested

The once lifeless pile now like a pyre

.

Satisfied with a job well done

Clothes and hair smelling like the smoke

Eyes sore and dimmed, my skin tight

I drag together the stray leaves around the fire

.

As the pile diminishes, all is being consumed

The garden takes on a new order in the clearing air

As the last flicker subsides the sun breaks through

Welcome, welcome, autumn sun

.

I head towards the house

Pleased, but relishing clean clothes

A shower, a cup of tea

My favourite chair, TV

.

Till the next time

They may be American, British, Canadian or a dozen other nationalities.

They do these things in our name. To them it's a job but a calling too.

The least we can do is remember them.

I write a verse a day

© Roger Macdivitt

Dawn appeared like a crack in the curtain

As if an unseen hand had lifted the horizon

Light seemed to slide from the centre South and North

Like quicksilver on marble

Unstoppable, rapid and scattered

.

Oh No, It’s not today already?

Yesterday I was excited

You see, we succeed at night, they struggle

It’s not just the equipment, it’s the training

Ok, now it’s daylight, that means we move again

.

This is when we’re vulnerable

That innocent truck or van

Parked next to the road

Is it result of breakdown, poor maintenance?

Or is it stuffed full of physical hatred

.

We have some brave or maybe stupid guys

They check out these things for us

Proud of their work, protecting us

How do they ever do that job?

Who is maddest them or their wives for waiting

.

Yes, they have wives and kids these guys

Wives who are probably innocently shopping at this minute

Pretending that he’s just doing a job somewhere

Knowing that many of his friends came home

Some came home in pieces or just as a name

.

We rely on each other

No,”Every man for himself here”

We know, “Go it alone and you’ll never go home”

Sticking together, that’s the way

Working as one, watching each others backs

.

These local folk are not like we were told

Sure, they welcome us, but there’s suspicion

We are to blame as well, we mistrust too

The guy that offers you water today

He may well offer you a shroud tomorrow

.

Make friends, win them over?

But how? Through the kids

Only last week Joe was evaporated

Blown away by the kid he played football with

Both died, Did they go to the same God together?

.

God? God? It’s nearly Christmas

Some of our guys are Muslims and they’re ok

They muck-in with us at Christmas

We make sure that they get their time to pray

Give and take, it works

.

What did they do in past wars?

I mean, no mobiles phones?

We only get to use them sometimes

Makes sense, protect our positions

Wouldn’t want to advertise

.

My friends are great

There here to do a job as well

Yeah, that’s what it is, a job

It gets a little heavy sometimes like most jobs

.

Nights are very different

Some nights we get good sleep

That’s if we’re not on guard duty

But we are better equipped at night

That gives us confidence

.

The endless drills we learnt

Boring, boring, boring

But now, now I know

I know my gun will operate

I know it’s every detail

.

We tease and get teased

Like, “Easy job being a cook”, ha ha

Next day he’s fighting alongside of me

Watching my backl

Couldn’t work without him, cook or warrior

.

Those bomb disposal guys again

They’re nuts

They’ve gotta be

Couldn’t do it otherwise

Selfless, focussed nuts

.

Today’s a hard one

House to house stuff

Incoming was very heavy earlier

All suffering, long day.

Too close for comfort, twice

.

How many times can you read one letter?

Can’t say much in letters

But this one smells of her

Three bloody weeks to get here

It still smells of her

.

I get a pint of beer sometimes

I get a game of pool too

I even get a pie, but

Never together, not like at home

A beer, a pie and some pool, I can dream

.

Can’t tell where we’re going

Don’t really know anyway

Heard a load of choppers yesterday

Something big going down here

Ah, moving out now

.

Never know who or what next?

Ok, so I got a sore eye

My fault, forget drill sometimes

Dave did last week

He’s not with us now, such a waste

.

I write a verse a day

My pals think I’m a screwball

Yesterday was rough

We lost three, not dead though

Badly shot up, sordid mess

.

God, we've been holed up here for days

Couldn't write my verses but quiet now

No sleep, just naps, so much to think about

We're cut off, surrounded

If I get to write another verse I'll

.

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