Kit Kelen #1212 - a bugle call to memory

1212

a bugle

(call to memory)

When he came back, my father would never march. He said ‘they don’t mean to,

but they glorify war. They drink and that way they make it all glorious’.

a bugle

for the lost of all nations

and for those of none

bewildered, ask

where is this hate for us from

war came to where?

from what?

we were fooled to it

it wasn’t here

but when the blacks went down

with rifle

poison

best with lies

o brave

how sacred is your gun?

(mustn’t call that war)

again and again

we were fooled to it

real white men

when order was divine

they served, the blacks

returned to mission

and was the British Empire better?

poor little Belgium – how’s your Congo?

there was only one war worthy of us

and now we make great friends

the rest were greed and pride and oil

and arrogance and fear

and on

and to this day

bewildered, we ask

where is this hate for us from

hate’s not at the base of every war

but it’s there when war comes on

there is the arrogance of right

in smug reflection

so the winners

decorate our scars

then where’s the glory?

where’s the shame?

do you blame the dead?

should we blame the unborn?

in numbers the safety

of God on our side

that’s how nations are

and lift our voiced just to be

better than the rest

scrum, tackle, whip the nag

remember why they fought

remember what they saved

if someone stood to ask a question

then lay weapons down

should we test the weapons

on their makers

on those who sell them on?

if we could shake hands for Christmas

there’s nothing we can’t talk about

when hearts are full to choking

thanks those who are nothing

for all that we have

for everything we’re not

what’s opposite democracy?

obedience, I think

war?   what is it good for?

hear the drums

again again

and feel the sanctity growing

with the sanctimonious

up on their stumps

see how they stiffen a lip

so thinking won’t get in the way

kill or be killed –

it’s ancient I-won’t-call-it-law

but no one remembers the names of the gods

they fucked for virginity – that’s how we’re here

such flesh was in our saints!

and so

a bugle for the best now gone

and long since

laid never to rest

because there’s none

for the lost

points to the biggest lie of the lot

age does not weary memory

these dead are soil long since, that’s all

it was the tyranny of orders

always from on high

is it duty calls?

will you give us a thought?

can you count oil and cash and tell me

who was it coloured the map?

lest we forget where we are

and how and why

stick these notions in young heads

and have them all adore, adhere

here’s the boy on the floor of the trench

in his blood –

he was shot for fear