Building The Wall, Leaving the Wall

[poliphilo]

Building The Wall

 

We needed to draw a line so why not draw it here

Through this empty country only a god could love

Where the heather reaches all tickly up to the knee?

Over here Rome, and over there- some place else.

In theory, of course, our soldiers, hard pressed but hardy

Could have carried on marching north and carried on marching north

Till the land grew too cold to farm, but frankly why bother?

Here was a ridge just right for putting up towers

And setting with fires like the crown of Roma Dea.

With a fall of some fifty feet on the northern aspect.

A walk on the wall is an education in civics.

It braces one in one’s faith to see where things end

And to know that this is as far as even an emperor

Can go with a boy at his side who is dressed like a girl. 


Leaving The Wall

I met with some of the boys under the wall last night.

For a final bevvy.

We’re moving out in the morning, going, oh god knows where.

Ours not to reason.

It’s the vets I feel sorry for. They’ve got a stake in the province-

Native wives, native kids.

Will they hang on now the army’s no longer there to guard ‘em?

Most probably not. .

But Piso, demobbed last year, says he’s seizing the opportunity-

The place will go to the dogs,

The tribes will fight each other, as they’re always itching to do,

It’s in their blood.

And be too busy feuding to guard against the picts or the longships.

Give it a year

Maybe two and the wall will be down, the cities empty, the whole country wide open

Ripe to be plucked.

Give me fifty, no twenty horse -he says- time-served men, seasoned campaigners

And- fuck Caesar-

I’ll sell myself to some new king, make myself indispensable

Work my way up,

Then carve out a kingdom to share with my mates-  raw, bleeding, the very best cut.

I wished him luck.

I’m afraid I like regular meals to much for that sort of game.

Too lazy perhaps.

Whatever, I’ve got no love for this country. I’m sick of police work,

I’ll die someplace else.

Besides we’ve been promised a war. A proper one. Marching in formation, fighting in formation

Like we’ve been taught.

I’m hoping they’ll send us where the woman aren’t all redheads

And you don’t need socks.

Comments

[sovay]

I am loving your recent poems, but especially these.

It braces one in one’s faith to see where things end
And to know that this is as far as even an emperor
Can go with a boy at his side who is dressed like a girl.

where the woman aren’t all redheads
And you don’t need socks.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you like these two.

I think what I'm writing here is a sequence, which will eventually warrant an overall title- "Below the Wall" perhaps. There's at least one more to be posted. After that, I don't know. These things run until someone- not me- turns the the tap off.

[sovay]

I think what I'm writing here is a sequence, which will eventually warrant an overall title- "Below the Wall" perhaps.

That sounds wonderful. Will you send it anywhere?

These things run until someone- not me- turns the the tap off.

Understood. I'm in the middle of a story right now; I won't be of much use to anyone else until I get it out of my head.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

It's been a long time since I sent anything out. After all I thought I'd finished with poetry. Seems not. Maybe I'll make an effort with this.

I love the mystery of creative work. Writing these has been like taking dictation.