Poems from (Army) Camp

It's about the halfway mark before I discard my 'green' skin to be in my own as a civilian once more. I'm NOT reptilian. You see I'm back at the air base doing my time as a corporal for 3 weeks. Welcome back to my annual in-camp training stint (still largely referred to as 'reservist'), where ranks rule in this highly regimented environment. Contrary to popular belief, not all NSMen charge up hills and get two skin tones darker because of their time put in under the scorching sun. I do get my fair share of tan and lots of dust in my face, but otherwise, it's pretty decent and in some odd way, you could call it a 'holiday camp' especially if you're highly stressed at the office. While there's plenty of time to idle and steal twenty winks, I deliberately made time to put words to recycled paper the Private manning the Ops Room had passed me at my request. I was on a mission to rekindle my affinity with poetry having been inspired just last Friday evening by Aaron (from Agapella) who'd launched his 2nd collection of poems titled "Five Right Angles". Congrats bro! Hope you can support him with a copy or two. I last wrote decent poetry in Literature class at secondary school, or maybe for my fiance. Regardless, it's not an everyday artistic encounter. Disclaimer: The following 3 poems may turn you off poetry completely, or make you reminisce your time at national service.

GREEN
Primed for life, the vigour of youth
Yet enthusiasm blends with obligation
A path most would not so choose

Green in camouflage, green they arrive
Black hair cropped, boots shiny black
Fatigued in fatigues
The wait for instructions torturous

Twenty-four months, this camp to call home
Green no more at the point of release.

SKEWERED STRIKERS
Pierced as on skewers
Right arm through to left
Shoulder to shoulder mere centimetres
Bound legs like mermaids
Fling stiffly in unison
A goal on the horizon

Faces affixed to polar ends
Glum and dimmed eyed
Like fish exiting freshness
Yet releasing no odour
Albeit flashy side steps at sickening pace
Much less back-breaking flips
Capable of flinging dust to the swirling fan

Tiny persons ruling the table
Carving goals, conceding goals
Striking misses, missing strikers
Glory is not for them
But the people on the handle
Big grown men

WAIT
A lifetime, a split second
Eternity, an instant
Time ticks, time ends

"How long?", some ask
Results, outcomes, benedictions

Burying patience
Enlightenment dawns
The wait is over
No...wait.