WAR

Fragments from The Blast

I.

On Rattle

Decommel de colonel

Dreamfurl brigadier

Lionel longers vidimise allin

Fanky kiddo log dis

********

sturshine traydrums rusher hollow

promendalel commandante: All new psalms hath brokloose.

Lucie: purr, un pyre how tick-tock nikinetics

Stick unter bilk tape:

Operado Appertif

The desper measure:

A fool glills pig vine

Guacamoles vade in

Occupity boroughs,

six legs beneath

Kendle burfirs, ‘e said.

Indweek celejolly indeed

Bill and the whole fast testament

‘Elder relearn swotten fingits

Curse that whore in Zekistan!

Incoronable depthcharge,

Cuntract ripen

II.

Morning Rays on Munitions Camp

Everygun pictures his flavour,

Get-on-allfours

Flour gore dung

Turin: The Hangover

Upsize Dine Kayak

Joker Favour

a belch of missed cakes

Defectors sight eerierepair

Textol is use the tissues forest strain

wear erosion like a bag

go tell rare slurs to the idler

rewire earth for the user

ergo junk maze`

riot iris

feud adieu

III.

National Constriction

Debt saps,

drove crews to independent grope

Trees took cover, insurance on the

Fire. The Ralph above Milady’s head.

Food for the kinder, litter fort cat.

How shelf, how shellfish, all these fags make me feel.

I only want to shave my country. I’m not being a

Policy, in my Panda, chewing bamboo and bulling small

Kids smoking on stout cornets.

And I don’t thrush those fame-retarded suits anyhow.

You can trust a tank.

Keep your flesh in it, some little castles and grovel.

At night I slept terror, by the light of the moog,

Then trumpets fielded bravery, the charms

Of morning drill.

‘Fa fa fa fa fa, fa fa fa fa,’ she peaks, ‘Lalalalalahhhhhh, bam-ba-damn, we’re cumin for your Borders.’

IV.

Veterans out in their wheelchairs

Raise the flags

(set sail again)

And early the same morning, manipulators set to work. From the lowest ranks, knife-and-fork bullies, to the full-fat cheeses at the top, struggling under their silverware, all is image reduction and processing, damage limitation.

But imagine someone different from the upright private. The city man, horn-rimmed spectacles, the designer of recruitment. Part of the budget has to go on all the marketing of the whole war equation. Literature filled with golden amber sunsets over ocean-bound aircraft carriers, of gorgeous jungles, videos of terrain, computer simulation.

I promote the yellow sun

I promote the yellow fire

I respect the jungle hot

I torch the leaves from the sky

I endorse the desert sand

I envy the desert man

Spreading his limbs across the borders

We bring true multi-tasking

I spread the gospel of peace

I spread pieces of the gospel

Broken down and torn, easily digestible

Communion.

Nourishment, old pornography, vintage weapons catalogues and the old scar comparisons pass and hour or two onboard. Hum his helicopter mantra.

Sam B Gill

re-load complete

DEC 2008
back to the machine-gun has re-loaded its blog content

please use the side-bar for easeful navigation ↵ --- or flit through at random::
--- to some poems and information → about Janette Stowell, who has a book coming out ↓
---:: or to a recollection of the magazine's history → &tc

---- :: The Midnight Horror Tree by Janette Stowell

-- A launch is scheduled, as the poet herself tells us: "11th December, and it is going to be downstairs in Revolution Bar (which is just a couple of doors down from FACT)" (in Liverpool)

-- A reading of the poem GULL on youtube → about which the poet tells us: "I had to do a reading at the Whitworth a couple of weeks ago, and this is where the reading is from. I had to follow the harpist. And I was cringing: the harp music was very beautiful and I had to then read out my poems, all of which had swear fucking words in."

-- And an animation of the title poem, also on youtube →