Find an island teetered
On frightened migrants, barrels of oil,
And African diamonds.
Find a child swathed in red water,
defiled by the law of the man up top,
pockets heavy, conscience ready
to burn and claw at power
To grovel, devour
To fester in Westminster
the cries of innocents
talked around, spat on
With self-serving ambivalence
A game of bla...
Wednesday 11th January 2023 6:22 pm
The Song Of The Wandering
In darkness deeper than the mine
where, once, I scraped my fingers to the bone
a silver seam of moonlight
breaks across the boiling blackness
and I let those self same fingers
idly trail in the cold Mediterranean.
I dream of the golden sunlight
left behind in the dust, distress and bullets.
That was then and this is now.
The churning sea, the angry orders
Wednesday 13th May 2015 6:47 pm