I usually write on the bus, I am unsure why.  I try to recall what motivates me to write whilst I’m moving, maybe its something of a side step of when you drive babies around to make them sleep.  With me I think it is that I get more creative as things pass me by, or maybe its because I have a more random mash of humanity sitting and moving around me.  I love writing, but it frustrates me that I get 95% of my writing done on buses.  Maybe I should get a chauffer to just drive me around all day, but then I’d need to earn a damn sight more than I already am to be-able to do that.  Or a better working environment, which is something I am working towards at the moment.  Anyhow, here is the poem I wrote today, it strikes a cord with my current memories in regards of my father and the Falklands.  I think it captures how anyone who has any working moral compass what so ever should also feel like.

Suffer the Memory

As I stand here,
A tear in my eye,
I fully appreciate,
That it isn’t a lie,
That war is hell,
No soldier can deny,
As we try to forget,
Those years gone by,
But if we forget,
We leave those behind,
So we suffer the memory,
So that theirs never dies.

© Len Smith


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