Colin F. Jones



I am not an alcoholic; I’m not effected by any drug,
Though I have suffered renal colic I have no specific bug.
I had hepatitis in Malaya, and malaria in Vietnam,
But that is no reason why, I am such an irritable man.
Why am I so sad and angry why do I want to cry,
Is it because I lived to tell the tale when I was meant to die?
I am paid by the Government because I have suspect health,
Because I have disabilities that deny me being my real self.
PTSD they call it but they are just initials of a name,
Which makes it easy to avoid things if all my problems on it I blame.
Since I have always denied it, defied the demons at work in me,
I have come to realize that from them I’ll never be set free.
I live with disappointment that some other vets don’t understand –
Who would rather put you down than offer a helping hand.


I ask for nothing from anyone and make no specific claims,
I give a lot I’m generous, seldom take; and share no pains.
I expose myself to everyone for I live in every verse,
Vulnerable to every rat and people who are even worse,
But more rewarding are the few who sometimes say they care,
Who read the entanglements that I write without trying to compare.
Those are the people, oft far away who give me peace of mind,
Who are not false in what they say for they are genuinely kind.
Not those who seek to argue always trying to put you down,
Who do not know the difference between a scrooge and a clown;
Those who see themselves as high and mighty – better than the rest,
Whose only ambition is themselves to promote and to invest.
But those who are genuine, good friends, who understand,
The problems veterans have in facing all that life demands.


I’ll take from you your every thought that you choose to express,
I’ll think it through and test it out without trying to impress,
Then I will reproduce it in my mind and write my conclusions down,
And at some time it will become a verse simple but profound.
And when you criticize my words which no doubt you often will,
It will be your own thoughts that you spite to give yourself a thrill.
And as I sit here smiling, in fact laughing as I sometimes do,
Quite amazed by the ignorance of the foolish egotistical few,
I gather more material from the emotional rhetoric of the reply,
And do the same old merry-go-round while they just wonder why.
But well I cannot tell them for it is just the way that I am,
And if there is anyone who does not like it well I don’t give a damn.
I don’t bow to the rules of others and I make no rules for them,
You can love me if you want to, or you can choose to condemn.


It has become impossible to write without referring to myself,
Because people seem to take me more seriously than I do myself.
So many choose to comment on not the words that I write,
But on the author who writes the words; choosing to be most impolite.
They seem to lack the intelligence to understand what I mean,
And they measure every word I write as opinions of my own extreme.
It is a pity they can’t live without comparing themselves with others,
Making judgments based on their own views instead of those of their brothers.
One eye it seems is open while the other eye is always closed,
And they seem all to ready to argue lest their false front is exposed.
I’ve spent a lifetime studying people their lifestyles and their claims,
And most do not do for others without trying to control the reins.
For some men indeed will stab you if you turn to them your back,
Because they envy what you have and indeed what they lack.