Pasta, Pepper, Tuna

From deep in the valley looking up I can see the river at its source

And the Sky up above is blue. And the Birds on high flutter by.

Water stop and I’m glad to take a breather.

It’s lonely as in a crowd up here on the Brecon Beacons.

My grip on the water bottle reminds me of childhood trips

to places like this in the wilderness, when I would play at soldiers while

dressing up. A look down and bright yellow blank firing adapter, black barrel and green plastic reminds me

that this is for real. This is life and death potentially.

My camo takes me back to the parade ground

And I feel a mixture of emotions at the state of it all.

Its what I must do(for my pension) Its what I must do(for my mother)

Its what I must do (for I can’t do/try anything else) They look after me here.

And the looks in their eyes tells me they need looking after too.

When they look at me and I look at you. Ego.

There’s scram and a cup of tea to look forward to soon

and a chat over postings over knife fork and spoon. The sky above

is white and behinds the clouds lies you know what. Nothing.

Except for the planets spinning around there is less more

and more less for as far as anyone can imagine. Yet we

sharpen our bayonets and shoot straight at the range, and polish our boots clean.

And we will polish our brass until it shines. There’s a war on.

Or there will be soon.


Written on Yoga and Medication (sic). Yoga and Meditation.


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