David RL Moore

Gun in the fridge

by David RL Moore

Wednesday 1st May 2024 12:16 pm

Gun in the fridge

the strangest thing

now it's just full of

Vodka and Gin

Gun in the fridge

belt buckle checks

burst ear drums

bodies and wrecks

Gun in the fridge

drive round again

buckshee rounds

in a bag in a drain

Gun in a fridge

don't carry ID

over the river

in the place they call free

Gun in the fridge

thank fuck I've no kids

what'll we do

when we haven't got this

Man in a fridge

tag on a toe

take the past with you

wherever you go

Audio and video at link below

https://wolfgarwords.com/2024/05/01/gun-in-the-fridge/

🌷(8)

◄ The indefinite sentence

Resting Place ►

Comments

David RL Moore

Thu 2nd May 2024 12:17

Good afternoon MC,

Whilst I am always grateful for any reading of my contributions and any subsequent comment I'm not entirely sure of the point you are attempting to make in specific regard to what I wrote.

I am 100% behind accountability, training and high operational standards with regard to firearms as that is the arena I hail from. I am especially keen on this with regard to our modern day Police Forces of which I have some knowledge in regard to training practices.

I was particulary familiar with the operational practices of an RUC unit known as E4A and some sub-units lesser known or spoken of.

With regard to discipline in such units working in murky territory it is often practices not associated with weapon use and handling that are questionable. That is in no way to deride the honourable and brave work of many members of that and similar units. I have witnessed good men and women become corrupted by the feeling of power a position can give them, couple that with the provision of firearms and things can sometimes (and did) get messy.

What I will add is that during periods of prolonged deployment in hostile areas, possibly working without much support or contact with friendly forces the environment can become extremely suffocating. Feelings of anxiety can and do lead to states of paranoia and suspicions of betrayal. Sometimes in these isolated theatres of operations lines become blurred and things can go awry. Short deployments in such areas often became impossible due to operational necessity and dare I say political pressures. These factors weighed heavily on the individuals who were at the spearhead, they often paid a high price for their commitment..if not immediately then in later life.

Anyway, I too have now deviated from my scribble...which is not unheard of 😀

M.C. Newberry

Thu 2nd May 2024 11:46

Firearms are an ongoing source of unease for many folk. Their use is (and should be) vigorously checked. As a one-time 'authorised shot' with a major police firearms unit, I recall all too clearly the discipline and respect that was instilled by committed training in their use and the penalties, both personal and legally that awaited improper use, not least the possibility of standing in the dock.

David RL Moore

Thu 2nd May 2024 06:56

Thanks for the likes and reading folks.

Landi, thanks for your comments.

I feel I should explain for some who might be confused by your comment Landi. I suspect you are referring to something I say in the video attached to the poem as opposed to the direct text of the poem (I can't be sure) Specifically I mention that the first verse of the piece is a recollection of an intrusive memory regarding my gun in the fridge.

One day I opened my fridge to reach for the Vodka and saw my 9mm Browning on the shelf where the Vodka should be, that memory was the basis for the first verse and the access point of the other memories. It was not a disturbing memory but it was the opening of a rabbit hole from which the rest of the piece spiralled.

Ending with the words "take the past with you wherever you go" rounds it off nicely I think. I open the fridge and the past is there, everywhere and anywhere it is possible that it will reach out and grab you, pulling you back in. That journey may lead you all the way to your end... as in taking it with you everywhere.

The tag on the toe does not refer specifically to me although it could do. I saw many corpses in NI and beyond, I take them with me everywhere also.

Thanks Landi, for opening up that opportunity for clarification..poems are sometimes just words, more often they are memories with a much deeper rooted foundation. Even if they are simply defined in plain language there is something lurking beneath if one chooses to look carefully.

David

PS. Another point of clarification, I am not soused when I write, neither am I staggering my way through the days from one bottle to the next. My drinking and my references to it are a prop I utilise for personal reasons..take it as you will.

The reference to 9mm Browning in the video dates that memory and the era of that particular conflict. By the end of my service my sidearm was a Sig Sauer, much nicer...if that can be a term one uses for an instrument of death.

Landi Cruz

Wed 1st May 2024 18:42

Hi David )

Memories are such elusive yet intrusive artifacts.

I find when looking in retrospect on many moments in my life, that my situation might have been improved by retrieval of something specific which I held and which could have shed light on the present. However, it just wasn’t available. I suspect that that is a product of being observant of the moment and thereby not able to access the complete compendium of reasoning at my disposal. Disappointing, in retrospect, but disappointing nonetheless. Because we can’t go back to those moments of dissonance and append, we’re just left to move forward.

Then again, some of those same memories seem to color everything--many of the sharpest memories seem to get muted to grey until they flash into the present at moments when we feel unable to openly express them or else when it seems futile to make them an open matter.

I loathe the grey. Maybe it’s necessary to blend and emulsify into these common moments where we can all share and all seems sane, but maybe it doesn’t really serve the greater good to sublimate our individual realities to the collective. Really, thank heaven for the printed word and for a hint of madness in the face of futility, if only momentary…

🌷

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