I’d love to lull

my little lad

so tenderly

to dreamy sleep,

to cradle my

wee baby boy,

to hold him close,

then, when he’s quiet,

to lay him in

his comfy cot,

but your Jimmy

and your Jenny

follow orders,

genocide

is what they do:

hope you’re happy,

hope you’re proud,

that from England’s

pleasant land,

your sons and daughters

sent us dea...

Read and leave comments (2)

the rain drums his fingers impatiently
along the length of a blue dusting lung busting puckered roof
and fingers the gaps where once there was glass
wire veined, designed to resist
a boot, a fist a flick of the wristy bone
trebuchet yet now carpeting this concrete nest
of surly youth in a crystal expression of boys
when they are bored
nowhere better then than this Park Drive smo...

Read and leave comments (0)