ROC '76

We train for war, so that we may live in peace.

photo by Pexels at pixabay.



ROC '76


In stony silence,
in fits of exhaustion,
we hunched & huddled
in the blood-red mud
& watched the 81s opened up
punishing the hills beyond the ridge.
Not for us the adage of glory and country
but faraway images of home,
a beer, a shower, & a woman to cuddle.

We hunched together
waiting, in a fine drizzle
that coiled around the blue hills,
the final manoeuvre of the battle,
as a haze of gun-smoke and diesel
washed over our tired bodies.
Somewhere to the east,
defiant GPMGs chattered.

As rivulets of rain
flowed down dented helmets
to sweat stained brows,
we struggled with a last smoke.
(have you tried lighting a wet cigarette ?)
We heaved ourselves up
laden with packs and
weapons and fatigue
and coaxed tired limbs
in mud-caked boots
to trudge a final kilometre to base.



written 09/04/1988
revised 05/10/2011
******************

Rosemary at Poets & Storytellers United wanted us to share our musings on war and/or peace.

---

U2 - Bullet The Blue Sky

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

R.O.D.

That was a really long time ago, but it seems like it was only yesterday...

photo by yapo-zhou at Unsplash



R.O.D.


just a tired wave to the guard at the gate,
no words, not one needed
those days of running in the sun, humping hills,
cold rain in dark jungles
half forgotten, gruff sergeants, muddy tracks,
sweat, curses and comrades'
faces and names i thought i really remembered,
goodbye godforsaken camp!

their bitching still clear, in hokkien, mangled
english, honest, unapologetic,
fuck the army, as the sergeant screamed of big
elephants in rifle barrels,
and now on this bus ride home to a change of clothes
from fatigues to polyester
the sounds and smells of the streets vaguely familiar
like home to an old place.


06/06/2021
**********


The title refers to the last day of conscription service, when you return to civilian life. On that day, some laugh, some cry, some spit, some are indifferent. I am not sure what's the acronym these days.

Posting this on the eve of our National Day.

---

Roger Waters - The Gunner's Dream

Shared at Writers' Pantry #82 at Poets and Storytellers United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

guns

When I was a child living in the inner city, my parents or my uncle would take us kids to an amusement park near our home. In the early days before tv or the super malls, these parks were the go-to spots of entertainment for the masses. Besides the usual ferris wheels, carousels, and bumper cars were the game stalls and joget dance halls. There were also the gun stalls where there was always a small crowd watching. Perhaps the sound of splintering glass attracts or they just liked to see a shooter fails.

image by dsnake1



guns


1962

      i wanted to try
      but i have no money
      and the gun was probably
      too heavy
      so i just watched
      as the stall lady
      pulled the lever
      of the air gun
      handed the weapon
      to a shooter
      all the while
      a lit cigarette
      dangling in her mouth
      that inch of ash
      strangely not falling
      and the shooter
      was taking his time
      undecided on his targets
      beer bottles light bulbs
      metal yellow ducks

      up above a full moon
      scattered its light
      on the fairground


1972

      i wanted to get this
      over as soon as possible
      the air was too hot
      the steel helmet too heavy
      so i just watched
      the target in front of me
      a wooden board with
      a poster of a soldier
      and as we shooters
      lay prone in the dust
      eyes peering through gun sights
      the detail sergeant
      on the bullhorn growled
      the order to fire
      and as i pulled back
      the charging handle
      of the M16
      heard the bolt clicked
      i was thinking of
      beer bottles light bulbs
      metal yellow ducks

      up above a blazing sun
      fired its rays
      on the rifle range


written on 28/05/2012
minor edit 25/02/2021
******************


This poem was published here on this blog before. Little eyeballs. Here we go again.

---

Daryl Hall & John Oates - Screaming Through December

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

moths

I wrote this, intending to submit it (and a few others) for the Golden Point Awards 2015, a national writing competition. So I thought I would polish it up a bit, office work took its toll and the deadline breezed by (can you imagine it was three years already?). So yeah, forget it, I will just post it here (and the rest of the lot, if ..) Wonder how it will perform in the competition though. :)

drawing by dsnake1 done with Sketchpad 4.0




moths


i

When I was a small boy, my father would talk to me in hallowed tones about Dien Bien Phu, showed me from some Chinese magazines, the monochrome prints of tired soldiers, a landscape so scarred by shells it could well be the moon and parachutes in the air like thin black mushrooms. I do not understand why a battlefield in Vietnam could excite him so.


ii

My father had come to South East Asia, looking for their Ellis Islands, their torches bringing them to a new land, as insects attracted to light, growing roots, hear the fledgling politicians pounding their socialist rhetoric, taking sides, staking a claim on an opportunity, building a home from scratch.


iii

In time, i served this new land, i bit a cigarette too, dug foxholes in hills, filled sand-bags just like some French troopers, biting on their Gauloises, in some hell hole in South East Asia. Only difference was, i need not fire a shot in anger, our Anne-Maries, Beatrices and Isabelles were not trampled upon, and died.


iv.

Later I retraced my father's words, understood why Dien Bien Phu made him proud of his skin, why we may forgive, but never forget, even among our own creed. And why my parents made sure that their children do have an opportunity that they were denied. In time I understood all these, there was so much learning even in a house without electricity and running water...


v.

bright pressure lamp
moths come in from the night
to die


written 08/04/2007
revised 13/06/2007
revised 25/01/2013
******************

---

“Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door.”

― Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems


And a song if you are thinking of home : CSNY - Our House

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

not off to a good start

Playing with strikethroughs. I think it's quite fun.

photo by krosseel
image from morguefile.com



not off to a good start




when mother came to send me off on my first day of the ns army enlistment, she was almost crying. i said, "don't worry, i promise to write dun worry lah, i will call back, okay?". i heard you have to wait ages maybe an hour or so for your turn at the only payphone in the camp, and then to utter a few words like "the food sucks" or "you won't recognize your son, me." that might worry her a bit majorly but it was the truth.

"take that fucking pendant off your neck, yelled the sergeant on the first day. "but sir, my mother gave it to me as a good luck charm". "take that fucking pendant off before i wring your neck" yelled that fucking sarge again, obviously not charmed. and i had to take that fucking pendant off. it wasn't going off to a good start.



16/08/2015
**********

---

Army storeman : Did the uniform fit you ?
Soldier : The shirt is ok, but the pants are a bit loose around the armpits.

-- Totally Useless Stuff


Shared on Poetry Pantry #265 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2015

a young girl does not understand this old soldier

Today is my nation's 50th birthday. A half century as an independent country. What am I going to write about this then, what do I see on this special occasion? The parade, the fireworks, the Leopard 2s and Apaches? No, others will write about these, and take better photos, than me.

I will then write something about our National Service, something I felt was a waste of time in the past, but a tenet that I supported now, if we are not to be bullied again.

photo by dsnake1



a young girl does not understand this old soldier


"Dad, did you really carry all these bags and guns
and march around with them for days? Isn't it kind of dumb?"

Packs, i corrected her. It's kind of dumb, yes, but then
darling, we did this so you and mummy can sleep safer.



06/07/2013
**********

---

❤

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2015