The Eagle

(heroic)

Morrigans raven call rents the air.
Claws shine bloody,
flesh hangs from beak.

He bends his musclature down
to service his thirsty sword.
He executes 3 sergeants
for wanting to return home.
On the ridges, warm guns cluster
to kill the unsuspecting.
Even capsarii carry guns
here in the dust-bowl of the Orient,
where men forge their manhood,
weeping for their legs cut away by mines.
An RPG shreds the front tires and driver.
An extra shot to ensure a towel-heads' death.

(anti-heroic)

I, Roger Day, subject of this country,
am nimmukwallah; that is, I have eaten of Her salt
and therefore I conceive it to be my duty
to serve with unhesitating zeal and cheerfulness,
when and wherever She may think proper to employ me.

This is my anti-thesis: self-indulgence, self-flattery, solipsism.

We got no praise from Rome. We buried the eagle.

(un-heroic)

And I?
We who have only heard Timischenkos' miaows for freedom
feel the hum of boots marching, full trucks coughing, trains
bringing their strange accented men into our unruffled pool of silence.
Jeeps driven with one high-booted leg casually outside the cab.

Supermarine Spitfire Mk II, 365mph, service ceiling 35000 feet.

My fathers friends transformed by khaki
and the open air into bronzed and gallant cavaliers
Twirling girls to Artie Shaw, they watch Lilli shimmer
in the dark of a blacked-out chip shop.
Awestruck at the constellation of red, green and yellow lights
it seems as if every aircraft in the world is in flight

The lonely bark of the dog-fox.

Term by term,the senior boys leave
units dissolving and merging to maintain our thrust into Germany.
Squeezing the last of the tooth paste, Ma says we can't afford any more.

Da works,
capsari to the legion,
lift, feed, ease
lift, feed, ease
lift, feed, ease
his disc slipped once, maybe twice.
his face as interest rates ground into him.

We lost our eagle a while ago.

(false heroic)

A ceremonial sword, 1828, Gosport.
Gold stripes on a blue naval jacket.
A foil, red-button stopped, mask, jacket.

3/4 length black spiv overcoat, a three piece suit, black,
white silk scarf, gold chain and watch, gloves. A snap-brimmed fedora.
"Listen, Punk. If you don't stop riding me, you're gonna get it, see?

Standing on the hump,
the tall stones of our ancestors behind us, oaths and blood mingling,
before us sand, blue skies, clouds in a wide-blue, ancient sky.
At any moment the keels of invaders
will hit the innocent sand, swords held high
the battle for the liberty of our people and for the security of it's future existence

with my fanatical will, I , a simple soldier,
succeeded with more than ten years of labour,
in uniting our dreams and in freeing it from
the death sentence of a feared poverty

the strange lurching walk, like a drunken man.
I walk for a few paces then stop,
holding onto the edge of a table

the eagle died in the presence of no one
it's ashes scattered in a place which cannot be found.