Three Poems by Wolf who served in Norther Ireland
(from ‘The Way of the Wolf – Poetry of a Veteran’ ISBN 9780956488527)
During the 2 minutes you’ll, maybe, remember some of us.
The years of silence our memories still sentence us to,
The unspoken wound that can’t be seen,
Carrying the memories of service,
You won’t hear.
Standing tall, we’ll walk by you,
Never showing the open wounds,
That cut like knives.
2 minutes later, You’ll be back to your life.
2 minutes later, We’ll still be trying to make sense of ours.
2 minutes later, another November morning will be forgotten.
© Copyright of V Sunkmanitu 2010
Bottles and Bricks
(From ‘Words of a Wolf – Poetry of a Veteran’ ISBN 9780956488503)
The sun is shining, the sky is blue.
The silence is sudden and tangible,
The birds stop singing.
It’s as if someone pushed pause on the video.
As if by magic a crowd appears across the road,
Parents stand behind their children.
The first brick sails through the air towards my head,
I casually slip to my left and it misses me.
I focus on the crowd watching for a petrol bomb,
While signalling my oppo to call for back up.
My hand reaches down and I free the pistol from my
Chambering a round in case I see a legit target.
Parents are throwing bottles and bricks, teaching their kids how,
The kids are smiling as they mimic their parents,
Echoing shouts of ‘Feck off home, we don’t want yous
‘Catch this you English bastard!’
I smile to myself as I consider my ethnicity.
I continually scan all of them,
A thousand thoughts go through my mind at the same
Am I cleared to open fire?
Not until I see a weapon or a petrol bomb.
If I have to open fire will the round go through my target?
Will it hit an innocent? The brain keeps storming.
I duck inside the shelter to my left and watch and listen,
Bricks, stones and bottles hit the shelter,
Glass splinters around me. I tense for a sprint toward the crowd.
I hear the patrol land rovers screaming towards us,
The crowd runs off behind the fisheries,
I give chase but they’ve reached safety.
The patrols hit the ground ready to chase the crowd,
Young, determined faces with their emotions locked down.
‘Forget it,’ I hear my voice say,
‘We can’t go into the Holiday Homes. Orders.’
I return to my post as the patrol heads off.
I make my weapon safe.
My oppo sticks his head out of the bunker,
‘You okay’? I look up and smile the empty smile,
The birds start singing again.
© Copyright of V Sunkmanitu 2010
(From ‘Soul of a Wolf – Poetry of a Veteran’ ISBN 9780956488596)
The brown envelope hits my mat and I wonder if it’s review time.
I open the envelope and realise it is.
I withdraw into myself as I remember the process,
The pain of it,
The mental anguish,
The feeling of helplessness.
All components of PTSD,
Adding to the existing difficulties,
That echo through my being and rip open my scars.
My soul forced under a microscope,
My mind raped by white coats that tick boxes for pay,
Some with ulterior motives.
National Insurance they call it,
For 32 years I have worked in this country,
Paying my dues while risking my neck.
Yet they try to withdraw what they owe every chance they get.
So I sit here dreading another review,
That brings my past into sharp relief,
The paper scalpel cutting open the scars,
Their ears closed to the silent screams that echo through my being,
My soul pleading for the end of this journey,
I wonder why the system can’t conduct this process in a more humane way.
© Copyright of V Sunkmanitu 2012
Villayat ‘Wolf’ Sunkmanitu
Wolf Photography & SnowMoon Wolf
Accredited member of the GNS Press Association – European News Agency.
You Tube: http://www.youtube.com/user/wolf19643