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As a young boy I always wanted to be a soldier
Counted the seconds as I got older
Then came the day and I joined the ranks
Not for me working in shops or banks
Then they sent us of to War
My Mother cried as I closed the front door
I shot a Taliban who killed a soldier
Now I rot in prison accused of murder.

© Tony McNally

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Cant vote wont vote

Cant vote wont vote

I wont be voting Mr politician
Because I've got no fixed abode
Once a proud British soldier
Now I walk a lonely road
I swapped the medals on my chest
For a blanket and some food
I no longer guard the Queen
She will not think I'm rude
I don’t have a TV set
Politicians I despise
My own film is in my head
I can still hear those men’s cries
Of comrades long gone now
They will be with me to the end
We once made a vow
This Country we would defend
Some say that not to vote
Would be an awful shame
Be we veterans no the truth
Your all the bloody same.


© Tony McNally
Author's Notes/Comments: 

There is a general election next week in the UK, this is why I wrote this poem.

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Big bad ugly Bear

Putins come to Cornwall

He wants to give the RAF a scare

He has also been to Bournemouth

With his big bad ugly bear

He is drinking a bottle of vodka

And smoking a fat cigar

With his finger on the nuclear button

Cameron thinks he has gone too far

Next week he is going to Blackpool

In his big bad ugly bear

He wants to see the tower

Is there nobody Vlad doesn’t fear?

Putin has been seen over Scunthorpe

Waving at the RAF

Then he’s off to fly over the Falklands

To see if we have any planes left

He knows with the MOD defence cuts

He can do whatever he wants

In his big fat ugly bear

He Taunts and Taunts and Taunts

Oh Putins coming to London

Oh Da Da Da Da Da Da Da !!!!!!


© Tony McNally



Author's Notes/Comments: 

A lighthearted peom about a serious problem of Russian agression into UK airspace.

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Come keep me company a while

Upon this mountain I lay

Pour yourself a hot brew

Tell me all about your day


Il patiently listen

I’m not going anywhere

When you’ve told me your story

Il make you aware


Of the minefields around

Trip wires and booby traps

So take your pack of your back

Sit down and relax


I’m from Glasgow my friend

You can call me Jock

I was killed on this hill

There’s  the hole in my smock


I’m not alone 

There are twelve guardsmen here

We got to the top

There’s no foe that we fear 


When you go back to Scotland

Tell your pals about us

We will never leave our post

Do our duty we must


The sun is almost down

Your path downwards is clear

I hope you come back one day

To visit us here.



© Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A fallen soldier on Tumbledown mountain in the Falklands chats with a stranger.

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We were young men back then in 82

Frozen solid and soaked wet through

Outgunned outnumbered but stood solid and true

Prayed to God to see the morning dew

We buried or dead and shed a tear

Cracked a joke and drank some beer

Sailed back home held our family near

Felt immense pride as the whole country cheered

Its now 31 years since we hit the beach

We did our bit but we seldom preach

Remembering  our brothers a poppy for each

The class of 82



 © Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

We will remember them.

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Trial by Media

Mourning for a loss long gone,
The shadows collect dust.
While progress stagnates a nation;
Holding its breath under water,
Too afraid to rise and inhale,
They’re going under.

No circumstances can revoke the true calling,
Born to power, though none have fared to be the example.
A pedestal crumbling at its very foundation,
Old world opinion dressed in new linen.
The pirates and plunderers are now completely grounded,
With man-made rules trapping their exploitations.

No facts will remain, but the scandal’s a winner,
No need for the lynching when there’s a trial by media.
Watch the fall of an empire by satellite,
With a television screen and blotted rag paper.



So Lets bomb the Hell out of Libya
A brutal Tyrant the West must foil
Its not about Lockerbie
Or civilian lives
We all know its really about oil
Have we sent our Forces to Bahrain
Or even to Zimbabwe or Sudan?
Yemen or Syria or Saudi?
As fast as we hunted down Saddam
Now lets arm the rebels they cry
As the RAF are sent into bomb
Like we armed the rebels in Afghanistan
We did a good job creating the Taliban
When you’ve dropped all your bombs and come home
And the press declare VICTORY
One morning you get your P45
You could try ringing up who you fought for , BP.
© Tony McNally
Author's Notes/Comments: 

We all kow this War is about OIL and not civillian casualties.

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The soldier was alone and frightened 
He wished his comrades were with him now
Hardly breathing for fear that they could hear his heart beat
Why has it ended like this?
His body pressed harder and deeper into his cold dark hiding place 
They were getting closer
Shaking with cold and terror he said a prayer
Please do not forsake me now God
This must be the end
They were almost upon him
He could smell their breath
He could hear someone taking a piss
A cigarette butt landed by his head
There were at least three of them
He had no weapons
Laying like a corpse it was unbearable
How can they not see him trembling?
Then they were gone
He let out his breath
Quietly sobbing he felt his crutch was warm
He had pissed himself
I miss my family and friends
I miss my Regiment and the lads
The soldier ate a rotting apple core he found
He pulled another piece of cardboard over his thin body
Exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep
Another homeless veteran on the streets of Britain in 2010
©  Tony McNally
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