My father, Malcolm Roy Ball, Vietnam 1967-1970
War Torn
our world is being torn apart
I threaten conflicted outbursts
in remembrance of him
and them
*
My great grandfather’s fought in WWI
My grandfather’s in WWII
My father in Vietnam
He protests in his own way
no purple reign on his parade
or Prince
to overshadow
dvd’s re running over blue
and red clashes – violent flashes
of memory
in black and white snapshots
of the fallen
and homeward bound comrades
of Malaya and Singapora
They were shafted
in one way or another
left to ponder life
and death
still
images Napoleon could not reconcile
nor the English continue to suppress
I don’t think he will ever forget.
‘See that guy there?
He had his arm blown off
and that one hung himself
a couple of years ago’
His way of keeping it real
as much as for him
as for us, who are held captive
in his momentum
They were drenched in Orange, Red
and Yellow agents
descendants of a Purple rain
then left to fend for themselves
amidst a wrath and fury
one can only call ignorance
blinded by a politically correct
notion of compassion
They were only nineteen
and nothing compares to youthful
enthusiasm; to be not unlike
their forefathers
Teenagers today
get their psychedelic fix
whining and dining on a scourge
that has become a pandemic –
a demonic frenzy
of self indulgent arrogance!
Mary-Jane makes
a Nightingale of pain
Today is ANZAC Day
I am both proud and sad
I have a legacy to uphold
and if it weren’t for those men
and women who experienced trauma
I would not have known complex PTSD
or to let my mind take me
to a battlefield of my own design
In remembrance of them
and parts of my self
lost forever,
I like the eulogy of
walking in the purple rain
Lest We Forget
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved
Prince, Street Art Eulogy
Uniform
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