Web Toolbar by Wibiya A War Poet,Blogger, Author and Lyricist, recovering War Veteran

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Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Do i close this blog?? are there any people still reading it.. has it any value now...does any person really care

Tuesday, 26 May 2015

Well we finally moved to a new home in Clackmannanshire which is a beautiful county in the central belt of Scotland at the foot of the Ochil Hills, one more suited to my disabilities and i am hoping it will help me find some peace.

What is unavoidable is the changes involved in moving to a new area, new Doctors, Psychiatrist and CPN although i must say i think the services here are looking far better than in Fife where i lived previously.

I have already been asked if i think i will resume writing and i will say i have a great desire to write a sequel to "The Magic Man" but it is too early to think about that.

For now i am trying to get my new home set up properly for my needs and my wife is working hard towards that goal, i hope to start posting some more interesting posts soon so watch this space.


Thursday, 5 February 2015

What is lost?

Had a request from an Indie Mag to do another interview, after I explained to them I could no longer write (nor had I for two years) because of my diminished cognitive and memory issues I refused the interview.

Then it hit home just what I have lost and how it had changed me, gone was the challenge but perhaps most importantly i had lost an outlet for the feelings my PTSD brings.
So much has changed

Monday, 6 October 2014

There Are No Unwounded Soldiers


Reviewed by Lori M for Readers Favorite

I’ve had the privilege of reading one of David McDonald’s earlier books, “There are No Unwounded Soldiers,” and because it was so emotionally charged, I wanted to read another one of his collections of poetry. McDonald is a hero in my view.

In “I Never Raised My Son to be a Solider,” McDonald is angry and lashes out at the government and the politicians who vote to send troops into war in his pieces aptly named “A Politician’s Slaughter,” “A Political War,” and “Who Went to War?” His poem titled, “I Don’t Give a Shit” portrays a soldier being shot in battle, with his blood running into the dirt, considering the purpose of it all and who is waiting for him now.

McDonald beautifully and sadly portrays a battle like a concert in “The Orchestra,” where he writes with such vivid imagery that it makes you feel as if you are there. Take this stanza, for example, “A hail of metal falling like ice, high explosive, poisonous gas, Perhaps something nice in green sir? Rent ground and torn bodies. The start of the movement.” Comparing the start of a movement of music to the start of a battle is riveting.

If you are looking for pretty poetry with happy ending, stars, and rainbows, David McDonald is not your man. But if you are looking for an author with “true grit” who tells the truth about the ugly senselessness of war, then you’ll enjoy this book, as well as his other collections of poetry.
They are now gone