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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The walls were thick with will—

                               not strength, not steel.

 

We laid them down like pronouns in a grammar of fear,

fluent only in repetition. Stone by stone we spelled out:

Never again. And meant it.

 

But silence tunnels too.

 

A whisper breached where no guns aimed—

not headlong, but sidelong,

like memory forgetting its own edge.

...

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My enemy lives over there:

In the house across the road.

Not long ago, I knew him well;

But no longer. Sad, really.

He and his son helped me lift

That big oak dining table

On to our garden terrace.

What a job! And what a night

We had, of fun and frolics.

Now times, like looks, have hardened,

And yet, once, we were firm friends.

Then they came and built that fence.

...

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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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The ongoing conflicts in Palestine and the Gaza Strip reflect a tragic cycle of violence fuelled by deep-rooted injustices and external political interference. Faith, often exploited and weaponised, becomes a source of division rather than unity, amplifying wounds rather than healing them. Powerful nations backing one side or the other frequently escalate tensions, prolonging suffering and...

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In the End

At night we sealed the light in, to be safe.

There was music, and the sewing machine whirred.

We played on the rug with a painted wooden car,

Like the one Daddy used to drive, when there was petrol.

 

Now every night the warden was on his bike,

In the pitch-black streets, checking the dark houses

In case the careless light was spilling out.

The rain on his r...

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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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For your information; the video below is sung in Yiddish, with English and French subtitles.

 

In forty-eight, I came into this world,

whose peace, they say, was won at cost immense:

I’m told that I should genuflect and bow,

to those who worship those old gods of war,

yes, I should heed the Christian warriors’ words,

who preach from pulpit and from podium,

and show respect ...

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N.B. I suppose I should make allowances for the Tommy Ten Names of this world, and admit that in the white heat of fascistic fervour, it is possible to confuse hamas with hummus…and gooodness knows what horrors might be inflicted by a beardy, muesli- eating sandal-wearing, Guardian-reading pacifist waving a bread stick around!

The Arabic يُكافِح means to struggle, and حُمُّص means hummus - not ...

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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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‘Your country needs you!’

Came the breathless whine,

As we put our names

On the dotted line.

 

Everyone went;

We all joined the queue.

No questions were asked.

None of us knew

 

About proper war;

We weren’t playing games:

Grenades in an ambush,

A tank crew in flames.

 

Although we were told

That problems were shared,

It soon became clear

That ...

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We can’t escape it, don’t know what to do.

People at each other, guess it’s overdue.

Yeah, we’ve read about it.

Is it here? I doubt it,

but I’m here to tell ya that it all is true.

 

Cuz the world’s falling fast into decay.

Makes me wanna stand up, shout to say -

I don’t really know man!

Where we gonna go man?

We can’t keep going on and on this way.

 

They make ...

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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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If I were God, no tyrant’s fist Would strike the world and call it law. No throne would stand on broken backs, No crown be forged from cries of pain. The fattened few who drink from veins Of those who toil, who starve, who break, Would wake to find their golden feasts Had turned to dust upon their tongues. No child would fade to hollow bone, No mother beg for crusts of bread, No fa...

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We carry wounds which no one sees, Stripped bare by the world's quiet indifference. A life lost, forgotten by time's cruel hands, Moments of sorrow fade beneath others' noise. A bomb bursts, its weight unseen, And the rubble settles—no one comes to mourn. We sit with our aching bodies, Alone in a world that turns its back. A sickness takes root, And the world moves on—too busy, too ...

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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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Ruin, destruction, fire and fear

Now I know why they ran from here

The wounded and the dying lay under ground

Undergrowth in abundance spreading all around

 

Fizzing and whirring through the air, it gets closer and closer to end your fear

 

Mounds that were cities, ash that were people melt into snow

The seasons are two, left tattered and strewn

In this apocolyptic sight...

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Just a little social observation
Listening in to conversations
Cyber toxins being fed now they think they know best
Their actions appear to otherwise suggest
Metaphorically dropping bombs causing divide
The VIPs  betting on who dies and who survives

Dismantling families  brothers and sisters
Good men jailed for fighting a war based on outrage from Chinese whispers
They are false news fue...

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Seek truth and justice.

Absence of war’s mere pretence!

True peace, not pieces.

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Don’t mention the war, when chez Basil,

one mentions the war at one’s peril:

it's the war Jerry started,

in Tom’s face he had farted:

yes, sauerkraut’s bouqet's far from floral!

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On winter days, with frosted breath,

We wander to the warm, great hall

To see this sacred scene once more.

A mother mourns her perished son,

As mothers do across the world,

While washed-up men, most often old,

Pick off the innocent for sport.

Grouped women, tethered in their grief,

Mop up the personal effects,

Doused in their humid, sodden tears.

Soon, beyond anger, b...

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I walk out into the lush green

To a tranquilizing Kargeen,

When a far gunshot shakes my soul

And the delicate trees lose their moles. 

In the presence of whose reign 

Is the humanity drowning in vain?

 

Some depend on War and Peace 

To realise the pragmatic fact that 

Conflicts can be dealt with ease,

While some still continued to tease,

Others relentlessly aimed t...

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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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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 wind bites at the death of hope

Beautiful mountains stare from the distance waiting

A town scarred from a fire lingering in mind

As the silence quells the last of hope

 

Soldiers, guns and tanks roll through

Seeking opposition on a path straight through

Fortifications find footing, scarring the beauty of those hills

Where evil lurks and killing is a thrill

 

In am...

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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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Morning sun silvered the poplar leaves

Somewhere others lay in the cut clay, waiting 

And I smelt the sea’s dead things

As I walked. 

Kelp, razor shells, crabs, limpets

 

We laughed and swam in sandy craters

And I walked

By Goat's Water, the Old Man looked down

As he had for all my life 

And all those other lives before

The smell of wet bracken, sphagnum, washed sl...

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These children have shining eyes yet sharp,

A strength carved deep upon each face.

 

They are not princes or princesses from a fairy tale;

They are real, present on the earth of Gaza, full of pain and trials.

Their story is recorded without the embellishment of fantasy,

Sending a message to awaken the human conscience,

Which has dulled under the glitter of a fleeting world.

...

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Gaza is forced onto a boundless stage,

A spectacle of endless conflict,

In a world where roles are chosen by power

 

Trump says, "Welcome to the show!" 

He knows his role, he knows his lines, 

Staging a political performance beneath the guise of humanity

 

Upon the stage owned by the United Nations, 

They send hollow promises to Gaza, 

Leaving them choking in the ...

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big brother
little kids,
children in the middle
of
civil war torn nations

warring

civil discourse

say your prayers

“Our Father”

we gather together to ask for salvation

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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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You may have the misfortune to

Live upstairs from or right next door

To somebody they want to kill.

It’s not your choice; you have no voice

In whose blood they would like to spill.

And, being close, it could be you,

Who sees the bomb fall through their floor.

No one's fault. The luck of the draw.

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Atmospheric asphyxia,

 

Possibly the reason for ADHD and dyslexia, more to the point causing total hysteria, CO2 saving to save the world, but still fly your bombs off to Syria.

-----------------------------------------------------------

My eyes are open early to ensure my mind stays sure, I observe white planes against the clear blue canvas and the lines that they can draw. 

 

T...

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The love we thought we had to give

Is an entirely different meaning of love we have now 

We came together as broken pieces 

Mending each other together separately 

While shielding our love from our own prejudice views

Individuals don’t have the strength to penetrate through 

Though we came close to letting our shield fall 

Quickly grabbing ahold because our hands loosened slig...

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smoking barrels
in talks —about the past
around the campfire

you could cut the tension with a knife

the only thing needed is a good sense of humor

And,
…try not to lose your self along the way

the buddy system
marching—
side by side
do you trust that man with your life?
willing to take a bullet for them?
behind every great man is a great woman…

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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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…and did those boots in World War time,

Stamp around England’s pleasant land:

And were those Blackshirt fascist sods,

From Cable Street off-seen!

 

Never did we countenance a time,

When journalists would see th’ Old Bill!

At dawn, a-knocking on their doors,

For telling truth, with fear instilled!

 

We must not cease Evil to Fight,,

Nor must my pen sleep in my hand...

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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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I sat in the cafe as I had when a boy.

Sitting as if I'd see the world as I did back then,

When the steam from my tea cup 

snatched a rainbow from the window light

It seemed the world was full of colour 

But, now the cafe was derelict, charcoaled.

The window lay in shards & fragments 

The colours of the rainbow, repelling 

There was rot in the architecture 

of both ...

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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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The Farnborough Airshow is much more than that. It is one of the countries largest Arms Fairs. The deals are made beyond the public gaze, the corporate days outnumber the public days. This poem relates to the masquerade that is The Farnborough Air Show and Murder Incorporated.

 

 

Women, Children, Ice cream, Balloons,

excitement, enticement, sonic booms...

 

Shattered Stree...

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That jangling tune 
told of sweet times ahead
Children playing with hosepipes 
on hot summer streets
and gleaming bikes ridden
across freshly swept pavements
How the ice cream van 
sparked joy and hope
O, the heady idyl 
of childhood…

Now the ice cream van 
toils a different purpose
macabre and tuneless
its contents chilling
The limbs of children
parts of mothers
Lifeless figures...

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The house stands quiet behind its useless walls,

as if a wedding cake cut but not devoured.

Discarded tools and children’s toys, the crumbs of life.

Inside, a stagnant calm of dust breathes for no-one.

 

Patches of earth curled with weeds.

The scratchings of beasts consumed by men

score the kill pen floor. Men who ate with fingers

greased with blood and vengeful mind...

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These eyes now laid on natures’ wings
have seen the sum of hateful things,
enough that English Winter Skies
as Pale as death cannot disguise

the salty sorrow in a tear,
intrusive nightmares ever near.
An empty voice shocked free from words
which when it speaks is never heard.

Yet by the River from the hide
I saw a bird and almost cried,
as through its feathered curtain shone
a ...

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Buried in her wedding dress

the tomb a ruin now,

cracked open is what once was blessed

where dogs and vermin prowl.

 

On fertile steps of Grove and Vine

where boots so cruelly stamped,

once yours, now theirs’, that once was mine,

too many tribes encamped.

 

But hearts and minds don't document

with paper, pen and deed,

what's taken, forced, was never lent

...

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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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