I think I heard a foreign leader say:

‘I haven’t focused on this for a while’;

But I must focus on it every day

And cannot fake concern or flash a smile.

 

I put my kids into the shelter’s care

And pray no missiles fall upon my place;

Each night time’s challenge is to grab some share

Of soothing sleep, with each new dawn to face.

 

My husband is still fighting at the ...

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They say that we should get in shape

And learn to take it on the chin,

Stiffen our sinews, grit our teeth;

‘Believe it, brothers, you can’t win’.

 

They say there is no difference

Between righteousness and sin;

‘It could just be that might is right’,

They tell you with their trademark grin.

 

They say we have our work cut out

Just to protect our kith and kin;

Su...

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(Maternity Ward – Ukraine)

 

Caesarean by torchlight,

Windows spraying shards,

Husband killed in fighting,

She holds no more cards.

 

Shifted while in labour,

Infant on a drip,

Ordeal terrifying,

Fights to keep her grip.

 

The doctors and the nurses

Deliver in the dark,

But sometimes the destruction

And the death are just too stark.

 

In Moscow th...

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When Hitler’s blazing bombs crashed down,

And you fought the flames with zeal,

Imagine if some man-child screamed:

‘You gotta make a deal!’

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NAZIS?

what NAZIS?

I see no NAZIS!

not the type of NAZIS

which meet with MY dissaproval

not the bespectacled type who shout

“Achtung”! and “vee haff vays off makink you talk”

not the NAZIS in our playground games of “goodies and baddies”

not the ones who wore World War Two helmets

not the type who routinely raise their a...

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I had a quick glance at the stats,

At these cold additions of shame;

The dead are piled high with the wounded,

And we all know who is to blame.

 

It doesn’t seem to worry him;

That victims were daughters and sons,

Whose parents will not see again

Their cherished, most beloved ones.

 

Because of one man’s vanity,

These young lives have gone up in smoke.

If he had...

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On August 15, 2025, Putin and Trump are going to meet in Alaska, a stage for reflexive control, the concept devised by Wladimir Lefebvre. The KGB-trained Russian leader will manipulate Trump, shaping his desires to serve Moscow’s goals, all in full view of the world.

A dead man’s work now joins the meeting’s glare,
Lefebvre’s design, a trap disguised as care.
The KGB had honed this patient ar...

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There’s a summit in Alaska,

With Don and his mate Vlad.

They’re going to talk about Ukraine;

The omens are quite bad.

 

They’re due to feast on gourmet food;

Their hot thirsts will be slaked,

But any deal that’s hammered out

Is bound to be half-baked.

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You almost bleed your smiles these days,

Like acting out a tiny death;

Though your pinched faces still resist,

You have to measure every breath.

 

I notice, each time that you cry,

Your tears no longer flow, they spill.

Do those inflicting this foul mess

Consider what they really kill?

 

I see you trying to join in fun,

Whenever someone makes a joke,

But laughte...

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Having your windows blown out

And your face cut by the glass,

And seeing your neighbours' daughter

Blown in the air and tumbling,

Minus one leg, next to their dead dog,

Ranks as pretty low grade stuff now.

Let’s face it, it’s not nuclear, with madcap types

Talking of Hiroshima and obliteration.

Having said that, it’s not exactly nice here

There’s a war on, you know.

 

...

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I wrote these lines of love, my dear,

Before the cold days of the war.

When you were near, so near, my dear;

When I was close, so close, to here,

And no one knew what lay in store.

 

Now all these lines have chilled, my dear,

Though love remains, strong as before.

Now you are far, so far, my dear,

While I am shivering with fear;

And all we can expect is more.

 

...

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I think that the artist got it spot on.

This is man at his most basic:

Trapped in the eternal tunnel,

 

With no beginning, no end, no escape,

Vulnerable like never before.

The place is a shelter, of course,

 

But could easily be a slaughterhouse,

Fried in fat if the walls don’t hold.

Try to imagine the pitch dark.

 

Just how has humanity come to this?

Cowerin...

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The metal’s falling

From the sky, like rain.

A warped ambition

Terrifies Ukraine,

As someone, somewhere,

Swells up with disdain,

While his practised sneer

Dishes out the pain.

And the world knows well

That he won’t explain,

But that, sure as hell,

He’ll be back again.

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Twenty dead so far……..

 

I wonder if they get an extra mark

For killing kids or snuffing babies out?

On their twisted scale of staff incentives,

Perhaps their bonus swells at all such scalps;

Perhaps their backs are slapped at each week’s end.

They say that talks for peace are well on track,

But we see little sign of it round here.

We feel the foul, malignant breath of b...

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The odd small child has copped it,

A writer here, a pensioner,

And, just around the corner,

An engineer.

 

It’s the same old detritus of war;

Keep moving now,

There’s nothing to see,

Nothing to fear.

 

The single mum with stumps for legs

Has made somebody’s day,

Just like the school and hospital,

Each with rooves blown away.

More detritus, but life goes on...

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To Glucksmann, this no longer fits with Trump’s current policies. The U.S. president is taking harsh action against immigrants, among other things. Since his inauguration on January 20, thousands of migrants have been arrested and deported to their countries of origin. The U.S. rapprochement with Russia in the context of the war in Ukraine is also likely part of the background to Glucksmann’s dema...

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Civilians lie, annoyingly dead,

Innocent prey of the enemy’s sport,

While wannabe gods in Washington cry:

‘You losers! We told you. It's all your fault.’

Others in Ukraine, spared till now, await

A shabby, hardly necessary fate,

And wriggle in the web where they are caught.

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A cemetery, you may think, but

No bodies lie beneath, just roots;

No unattested arms remain,

No pairs of sweaty, unclaimed boots.

 

Quite soon there will be vines and grapes,

And then the succulence of wine;

No trace of blown-off body parts,

Detached by shell shot or by mine.

 

The volunteers who tend the place

Sense no souls planted underground;

They prune and ...

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In a calculated spectacle, Trump and Vance sought to humiliate Zelenskyy before the press, twisting truth into propaganda. Their goal? To paint Ukraine as ungrateful, to justify betrayal, and to sell capitulation as "peace." Behind them loomed Putin, tightening his grip as Trump bent to his demands. This wasn’t diplomacy—it was deception, staged for the American people and the world.

 

Tru...

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There are no allies any more,

No friends, no foes,

No right, no wrong,

No good, no bad;

Just bully boys who'll take you

For everything you had.

 

 

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Today, three years ago, Russia launched its brutal invasion of Ukraine, shattering peace and unleashing a wave of destruction. Towns were levelled, lives torn apart, and a nation thrust into an endless struggle for survival. Despite the relentless violence, Ukraine remains unyielding, its people refusing to surrender. The world has watched as the cost in blood and suffering continues to rise, and ...

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This poem reflects the urgent and growing tensions Europe faces—internally divided and externally threatened. With rising dangers from Russia, China, and a shifting American stance, it paints a vivid picture of the consequences of inaction.

Europe, listen—time runs thin, The storm is howling, wars begin. Trump builds walls, his hunger grows, Grabs at lands where cold wind blows. Not jus...

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They no longer carry coins.

They have wads of notes to spare,

But their instinct is to throw crumbs,

Or bits of half-eaten sandwiches.

They tell you to perform

One of those cute local dances,

Or to sing ‘Streets of London’,

Or playing a tune on the violin.

Or better still, sit up and beg,

Say how goddam grateful you are,

And hand over anything you’ve got,

Explainin...

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As the Trump-Musk regime steers the U.S. into the arms of dictators, Europe stands at a crossroads. This poem is an outcry against betrayal, against backroom deals that sell out Ukraine, against the glee of China as it eyes Taiwan, and against the creeping infection of authoritarianism within Europe's own borders. Curtis Yarvin’s sick vision—a world where democracy is crushed under the boo...

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The Sunshine Boys are chatting on the phone;

They claim that they are both concerned with peace.

But one of them is raining down his bombs,

While body counts on both sides still increase.

 

The other one appears not to remember

Who started this barbaric slice of hell;

He treats the culprit as a valued partner

And seems to have been captured by his spell.

 

The victims...

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A time will come when we forgive,

Though that time is not yet;

But even when forgiveness comes,

None of us will forget.

 

We won’t forget the agony,

The sadness and the waste;

We won’t forget the insults hurled

With puerile lack of taste.

 

We won’t forget our cities wrecked,

Our soldiers blown to bits;

We won’t forget the fearful nights,

The lethal missile h...

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In sleep I see the nail

Pass through the yielding flesh;

Jesus knew about that.

 

But we are skin and bone,

Already. No reserves

Of fat or of muscle.

Bare bones. No resistance.

Every strike and rumble

A nail, hammered, pinpoint,

Into the joints and cracks.

The torment forcing us

Towards strange submission.

 

Soon we could be up there,

On the cross, con...

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The moon shines up above:

New, crescent, half, gibbous, full,

Waxing, waning,

Dodging behind a scudding cloud.

Its complete repertory,

Its whole thing.

 

At least they’ll never get the moon.

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This used to be my street,

This used to be my home,

This used to be my land.

I do not understand

And cannot fathom why

Things got so out of hand,

So much has been destroyed,

So many had to die.

 

These simple-minded times

Have carved the perfect tool

To camouflage the truth

And take us for a fool.

 

It turns out that this war

Is no one’s fault at all.

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The fractured walls of wickedness in war

Are on display each day at any time.

The morning tittle tattles rise and fall

And poets churn out verses in sweet rhyme,

But somewhere, here or not so far away,

A child is killed by missiles from above,

A mother grieves for her departed son

And husbands weep for what they think was love,

While no one makes the evil men account

For...

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You don’t need much brains to share a tweet

(Tech Bros will help you if you can’t).

Just flash up vile messages on your screen

And give them a big MAGA slant.

 

Insult a battered country and its chief,

Say that his time is almost up,

And inform him that all future funding

Will be dropped in a paper cup.

 

Here’s what the tweet said, in more precise terms:

Ukraine’s...

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Never mind the wounded,

Never mind the dead;

Shake hands with the cheeky chap

And pat his shiny head.

 

Never mind the blood

That’s dripping from his hands;

Kneel right down and grovel

In front of where he stands.

 

The cheeky chap is on a roll;

The BRICs are dancing to his tune.

A warrant waits for his arrest,

But might as well be on the moon:

 

For t...

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At every corner of the world I turn,

I come across the stink and shape of death

And dodge the battered buildings to keep safe.

Yet still I hear the noisy men of war

Talk euphemistically of grades and gain,

Assuring us that all they want is peace.

Sad to relate, that treasured bird has flown;

From this time on, our God is on his own.

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In the language of communiqués, we say:

‘We will do whatever it takes’,

But in Kyiv, Kharkiv or Kramatorsk,

As nighttime falls and warheads once again

Wend their way between wide-open cracks,

The heart of one more mother breaks.

 

And our reply? ‘Look at the big picture;

This sort of thing is anecdotal.

A tiny fraction of the total.’

 

Pah!

From inside each plus...

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What are we fighting for?

Ukraine will win this war.

By gambit or caprice,

Ukraine will live in peace.

 

Though enemies have tried

To dent a nation’s pride,

Their onslaught is defied.

Ukraine will win this war.

 

Though cities crash and burn,

The displaced will return,

And conflict will adjourn.

Ukraine will live in peace.

 

For freedom will prevail

...

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Maybe my enemy enjoys a joke,

When seated round a table with his mates.

I can believe that he’s a decent bloke,

Except when the demand of war dictates.

 

Perhaps he likes his football at weekends;

His mother might still bring his cup of tea.

Yet now it’s captured land that he defends,

And if he’s ordered he will shoot at me.

 

Our paths may well have crossed when we w...

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I took one in the back,

And fell down on the ground.

I sought a friendly face,

And saw one that I knew,

Approaching me at pace:

A pal from student days,

Now on the other side.

‘I’m not to blame,’ he says,

And shoots, in the same place.

‘It’s business, it’s not you.’

His words seemed quite profound,

(I don't think I replied)

Yet they took me aback,

As I lay th...

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We feel bad about our provocation;

We didn’t mean to cause you such upset.

Of course, you are innocent and blameless;

Our troops were only sent in for a bet.

 

Our little strategic incursion

Was even-handed and sincerely meant.

There was no wish to violate your borders;

No malice was contained in our intent.

 

Wait a second, though! At provocation,

You’ve shown you...

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It’s never going to work;

 

You do deals with the tough,

But soon he’ll cut up rough

And do his dirty stuff.

He just can’t get enough.

 

He’s never satisfied

Until your flame has died,

Snuffed out by his dark side.

By then his grin’s as wide

 

As some cream-licking cat.

Though preaching peace and that,

His word is worthless tat;

He’ll rase your homeland...

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He waddled his way to the Kremlin

As some kind of honest broker,

But anyone watching the horror show

Viewed him as one sick joker.

 

With his huff-puff of lies and flannel,

He claimed that he came in peace;

If only Kyiv would listen,

The bloody destruction would cease.

 

Then just a few days later,

Ukraine suffered thirty-plus dead;

Idiots can sometimes be usefu...

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Some people say home’s where the heart is found;

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the being there,

The rooted opposite of somewhere else.

Fond memories may have tipped the scales

In favour of this slow, contented place:

The local shops, the chatter’s usual sound,

The morning stroll to coffee on the square,

The precious banality of passers-by,

Though each slab of this ecosphere wi...

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‘Look at the big picture,’

Cried the man in the suit.

So I took his advice

And ignored the sniper,

The stiff, the nightly raid,

The trivia of grief.

I turned to the summit,

Its polished chandeliers,

Its underarm hygiene,

Its on-tap refreshment,

(‘Still or sparkling, Madam?),

While, in the dregs of war,

The uninvited crouch

And hope the shells will miss.

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I remember the old dictum

About having to break some eggs,

But don’t recall the guided bombs,

Great cities beaten to a pulp,

Or blowing off somebody’s legs.

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A magnet hung in the big, bright store,

Between the household and the sport,

When down came a pair of guided bombs

And more innocent lives were cut short.

 

Far away across the border,

Pampered strategists play chess;

They do not know the victims,

And are bothered even less.

 

This is the new reality

Of war devoid of shame,

Where women, men and children

Becom...

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The naughty little boy:

He likes to roam around,

Invading foreign ground.

Harsh methods he’ll employ,

The naughty little boy:

He measures out the soil

That he intends to spoil

Or preferably destroy,

The naughty little boy:

A foe who stands alone

Is butchered by a drone:

His brand-new, shiny toy,

The naughty little boy:

No opposition views

Are broadcast on ...

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We have become defined by war.

Two years ago, we had the love.

Builders played and danced to our tune,

This fantasy world embraced us:

Plucky sorts, hung out for applause.

Now we are just part of the kitsch.

Since that time – more dead, injured and burned,

But not only that. Deeper marks

Have eaten into Free Ukraine:

The tears of a vanished childhood,

The shame of shr...

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There’s the old smoothie, turning on the charm.

Hunched behind his desk, far away from harm.

He doesn’t seem to care or give a toss

About the lives that he condemns to loss.

 

There’s the old smoothie, targeting Ukraine.

Oblivious to death, amused by pain,

He knows the masses have nowhere to hide

And are fair game if they live on that side.

 

There’s the old smoothie,...

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Are we allowed to be afraid?

Is it compulsory to fight?

Many would choose to be elsewhere

When faced with a foe and its might.

 

Are we a traitor if we leave,

Or a patriot if we stay?

It is no shame to show contempt

For warfare, and to keep away.

 

And ‘pacifist’, that grubby word

That hardly dares to speak its name?

Why should we join the ranks of hate

Or pl...

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It’s clever how they’ve set this up:

A bowl of fruit,

A jar,

A china dog,

An iron bar (an iron bar?)

 

Behind – some crumpled remains,

The stench of rotting heaps

Of defenceless women and men.

Still, no one can see or smell this,

So that’s all right then.

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He won’t give a penny to help Ukraine;

He won’t lift a finger or part with change.

He wants his America ‘great again’

And thinks that such places are foreign and strange.

 

He won’t give a penny to help Ukraine;

He prefers to do favours for his mates:

Like jailbirds whose crimes are far from mundane,

And heads of authoritarian states.

 

He won’t give a penny to help U...

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