casualty of war tumble down water of the weir rushing to my ear, sixty-three years and fourteen days is enough for a life every night, there is salt on my lips vomit in the sand, blood splattering in the loam bullets strafing, mortars, grenades, noise missing in action was something too uncertain it sent my wife to the arms of another it was six months before they found me not a casualty as such, more a deserter they arrested me, they did not shoot me a beating detached my retina, I was unfit six months more, they released me let me loose to see out the rest of the war as a civilian, no fatigues, only fatigue many thought me a coward, a shirker some a traitor, or a spy, most felt envy hating me for living while their lovers died tumbledown water of the weir rushing to my ear, then a rocket overhead, motor, motor, silent, whine one explosion, and one UXB, whimpering the boys came, did what they had to do mundane bravery, everyday courage lance corporal said “just a hunk of metal poor workmanship” “slave labour” added the captain, pipe flaring red they dragged me from the ruins my leg was broken, but I would live those that saved me did not see out the week the war finished – VE Day, VJ Day life failed to ignite, no passion it seemed brain something or other, quacked the doc ‘Bulldog’ – a tugboat reaches the lock so, I decide to wait, avoid the do-gooders tumble down of water rushing in my ears her lover died, a hero they say so the enemy are not only evil they are also the makers of heroes I took her back, it was the moral action their child became our child, an only child who did not understand why I hated her at five, she held my hand when I cried called me papa; at ten she spilt my whisky glass and I broke her arm, I just lashed out at thirteen, I divorced her mother told her she was not my child truth is always best; she scratched my face at thirty, her own children find me difficult they call me Papa Mike; at forty she told me “I forgive you, but I will never forget” tumble down of water rushing to the ear nineteen eighty three, gulls soar and dive stood on the edge of Richmond lock and weir tumbling, rushing, it became easier to drift my ex-wife died, her daughter banned me from the funeral - forgive, not forget if only that bomb had been better made I would now be one of the remembered a casualty of war, an innocent man but now, all I want is to forget, and be forgotten forgiveness gives me nothing except pain not even that anymore, simply numbness ‘Bulldog’ did drag me out, but the sweet kiss of breath went unheeded my time I guess, I had hoped for drama some meaning, some blinding light but all I felt was a sense of puzzlement why had I not done this way back when ©Trevor Maynard, 2015, from Grey Sun, Dark Moon
casualty of war
tumble down water of the weir
rushing to my ear, sixty-three years
and fourteen days is enough for a life
every night, there is salt on my lips
vomit in the sand, blood splattering in the loam
bullets strafing, mortars, grenades, noise
missing in action was something too uncertain
it sent my wife to the arms of another
it was six months before they found me
not a casualty as such, more a deserter
they arrested me, they did not shoot me
a beating detached my retina, I was unfit
six months more, they released me
let me loose to see out the rest of the war
as a civilian, no fatigues, only fatigue
many thought me a coward, a shirker
some a traitor, or a spy, most felt envy
hating me for living while their lovers died
tumbledown water of the weir
rushing to my ear, then a rocket
overhead, motor, motor, silent, whine
one explosion, and one UXB, whimpering
the boys came, did what they had to do
mundane bravery, everyday courage
lance corporal said “just a hunk of metal
poor workmanship” “slave labour”
added the captain, pipe flaring red
they dragged me from the ruins
my leg was broken, but I would live
those that saved me did not see out the week
the war finished – VE Day, VJ Day
life failed to ignite, no passion it seemed
brain something or other, quacked the doc
‘Bulldog’ – a tugboat reaches the lock
so, I decide to wait, avoid the do-gooders
tumble down of water rushing in my ears
her lover died, a hero they say
so the enemy are not only evil
they are also the makers of heroes
I took her back, it was the moral action
their child became our child, an only child
who did not understand why I hated her
at five, she held my hand when I cried
called me papa; at ten she spilt my whisky glass
and I broke her arm, I just lashed out
at thirteen, I divorced her mother
told her she was not my child
truth is always best; she scratched my face
at thirty, her own children find me difficult
they call me Papa Mike; at forty she told me
“I forgive you, but I will never forget”
tumble down of water rushing to the ear
nineteen eighty three, gulls soar and dive
stood on the edge of Richmond lock and weir
tumbling, rushing, it became easier to drift
my ex-wife died, her daughter banned me
from the funeral - forgive, not forget
if only that bomb had been better made
I would now be one of the remembered
a casualty of war, an innocent man
but now, all I want is to forget, and be forgotten
forgiveness gives me nothing except pain
not even that anymore, simply numbness
‘Bulldog’ did drag me out, but the sweet
kiss of breath went unheeded
my time I guess, I had hoped for drama
some meaning, some blinding light
but all I felt was a sense of puzzlement
why had I not done this way back when
©Trevor Maynard, 2015, from Grey Sun, Dark Moon
PRESS RELEASE – GREY SUN, DARK MOON, a new collection of poetry by Trevor Maynard
Publication Date: September 14, 2015, Amazon $19.99/£14.99
Contact: Trevor Maynard, poetry@trevormaynard.com
Website: www.trevormaynard.com
Press copies: Available on request in .pdf or paperback
Synopsis
Taking us from Sunrise, through Morning, then Later, into Dusk, and concluding with Night, this collection of poetry hovers in the shadows of melancholy, occasionally rising to joy, often falling to darkness; an intimate study of the human condition. “Trevor Maynard combines complicated thematic material and unites fractured images with a sure hand” (The Stage)
Details
The book consists of sixty-five poems divided into five chapters, written on or before 2015, with an appendix of author’s notes on ten of the poems, an index of first lines, details of the author’s previous works, KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON (2012) and LOVE, DEATH AND THE WAR ON TERROR (2009).
The Chapters
SUNRISE, new life, the growing of awareness, the innocence of love
MORNING, change, the first half of life, time passes
LATER, the afternoon of existence, the coming of old age, the nature of being
DUSK, man in society, the violence of politics, the place of Man in Nature
NIGHT, the human condition, tragic narratives, the reality of love
Trevor Maynard biography
Born 1963, Trevor Maynard printed his first poetry pamphlets off an old Roneo machine and sold them to his work colleagues in the Civil Service. He soon returned to Higher Education, and wrote and directed his first play in 1986, before going to Royal Holloway College to read Theatre Studies and Dramatic Art. Over the next ten years he wrote and directed plays in London, Edinburgh and on tour. A collection of his one-act plays “FOUR TRUTHS” as well as the plays “GLASS” and “FROM PILLOW TO POST” have been published. In 2009, his first collection of poetry was released, LOVE, DEATH, AND THE WAR ON TERROR, inspired by his visit to the World Trade Centre in 1998 and 2004, as well as his birthday, 11th September, now hijacked by 9/11. Trevor also started the professional networking poetry group “Poetry, Review and Discuss” in LinkedIN (now 4,600 members) in 2009, and his second poetry collection KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON was published in 2012.
KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON (2012)
What a person writes is universal, because they themselves are human, and this can be words of ecstasy, of profound happiness; or it can be the depths of depression, the loss of love; or it can social commentary – putting the world to rights; or merely shooting the breeze – accessing the lexicon to have fun; but all in all, one thing poetry is, is emotional truth.
The Poetic Bond (www.thepoeticbond.com)
Trevor Maynard is editor of The Poetic Bond, an on-going series of poetry anthologies garnered from new media, social and professional networking, whose purpose is evolve organically a collection of poetry based on the emergent consensus of work submitted in a three month time window. To date, five anthologies have been published in paperback, with the fifth, published on 21 October 2015. Over 120 poets from 17 countries have been published, and in 2015, 802 poems were submitted, of which 56 made the final anthology.
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