It started when they spat at me,

And former pals made it quite clear

That I should not enjoy life here.

They cried: ‘go home’. This is my home!

I know of nowhere else to be,

But that won’t stop them taunting me.

For years my parents played the game:

They had turned into diehard fans

Of all the leader’s cunning plans.

But this will never be enough;

You m...

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‘Are we an item?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ he replied.

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said,

But, later on, she cried,

And wondered why, that afternoon,

She had at least not sighed.

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The metal comes a-raining down

On its mean nightly spree,

And some more are dead or wounded

Who did not need to be;

Those at the front who quake with fear

Crouch in a silent plea,

And, spotted like a sitting duck,

Are bombed and shelled with glee;

This gruesome feast of agony

Could spread to you and me,

And those who are responsible

Will still get off sco...

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We found the old man, swinging from a rope;

It seems he couldn’t take it anymore.

It seems he had outlived his memories;

He’d had two sons, both victims of the war.

This is reality: young lives are snatched

And parents, seeking solace, see no point

In playing games alone in this grim light,

When others seek new martyrs to anoint.

It’s what invaders deal in every d...

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The fifth six may have been a catch;

(Did the fielder hold on as he fell?)

But the sixth, a long hop clobbered with disdain,

Flew half way down into Swansea Town

And might never have been seen again.

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Nigel Grumpy, at that time just a lad,

Was taken to Germany by his dad.

Dad could hardly wait to cross the border,

Hoping to encounter proper order.

In the thirties of emblems and of flags,

Of swastikas adorning shopping bags,

The local party crowd would strut their stuff

And Grumpy Senior couldn’t get enough.

He marvelled at their discipline and pride,

Their w...

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Never mind the weather;

There are twenty seven dead.

Some dirty, stinking cowards

Dropped missiles on their head.

Never mind the weather:

The sunshine, cloud and rain.

The swine are filling up the sky

With lethal toys again.

Never mind the weather;

The outlook is quite clear.

The murderers are saving up

More death to piss down here.

Never mind the...

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The music of the heat

Is soft in early morning air.

Its harsher tones, in dribs and drabs,

Emerge as the shadows shorten,

Retreating only with

The falling canopy of dusk.

The city pavements swell

And, at the high scorching hour,

Their jagged edges pierce the skin

Of card sharks and the lunchtime queues,

To gulped, unuttered cries

Of those who tolerate the pain...

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Let’s kick him when he’s down;

It’s easy, join the queue.

Slip on these size ten boots;

We’ll show you what to do.

Just hit him where it hurts,

When he has no defence.

Spit out your poisoned rant;

You don’t need to make sense.

Tyrants and dictators

Keep you miles away,

But where the life is free

Cheap vitriol holds sway.

Some come on, get stuck in

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On the day of the recital

A warhead crashed down on our house.

Three of my family died

And only I survived,

But, though I shan’t find peace again

That very evening

I played, in pain.

The music did what music does;

I gave them Mozart, Bach and Brahms.

Soon grief seemed not to matter,

As all fell back into its arms,

And evil turned to trivial

As wonder filled

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Those were the days

Of Big Keith, Uncle Reg

And Mavis from the garden centre.

It was all going so well;

Everyone had their bit of fun:

Easier times.

Then the interferers came:

Laying down the law, splitting hairs,

Causing trouble.

Suddenly, paths were blocked off,

Names and addresses checked,

The odd groin kicked.

They didn’t like enjoyment:

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Most things in life are overrated;

But what else is there?

If you don’t overrate,

You’ll understate,

And be shouted down

In the deafening debate.

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Anyone can write a poem, a novel,

A self-help book, a column in the local rag;

Anyone can fly their filthy little flag.

Anyone can paint, create,

Lick the pattern off the plate,

Grass up their longest-standing mate.

Anyone can compose – concertos,

Operas, a bit of rock and roll,

Or put the ball in their own goal.

Anyone can shrug their shoulders,

Piss t...

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They took away the children;

They put them in a car.

We asked where they were going;

They said to us: ‘Quite far’.

They took away the children;

They put them in a van.

We asked them why they did this;

They said: ‘Because we can.’

They took away the children;

They put them in a truck.

We asked why they should suffer;

They said to us: ‘Tough luck’.

...

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Many people pose as giants,

But most are not quite the real deal.

Some often simply shrink away

As you are preparing to kneel,

Emitting just a puny squeal.

A lot are mouth-and-trousers types;

In the flesh they fail to impress.

They talk good games from far away,

But shrivel when put to the test,

Their hulking form in full regress.

These big guys will throw a...

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All sorts of things offend me every day,

But it would be unfair or underhand

To call for such expression to be banned

Or to be silenced in some other way.

Imagine interdicting simple acts

Or stopping circulation of a joke,

Or 'de-platforming' some misguided bloke

Because you do not like his take on facts.

A lot of views will make us quite annoyed

And statements...

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Gibberish

If all those dying in the fray

Were laid from end to end,

They would stretch for many a mile

And no doubt grievously offend,

Behind their desks so far away,

The same men talking gibberish

With a sickly, spray-on smile.

As it happens

No one needed to die today

But, as it happens, sixteen did.

Of the usual bagged variety:

Men, women and so...

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Smallsmith, unlike his name, was vast;

He towered over other boys.

And yet his life was difficult:

His movement slow, his thoughts unclear,

Amongst a fog of urban noise.

His parents loved their giant son

But understood that, as he grew,

The neighbourhood would not accept

His outsized presence in their face;

He’d have to disappear from view.

So Smallsmith and...

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He wouldn’t carry off his act these days,

Now that the plods have sewn the whole gig up;

It’s hard to see him slipping on hi-vis

Or jostling for a spot behind the tape,

And Watson, knackered from a double shift,

Would never make the early morning train

To help him nab the unsuspecting crooks

By eliminating the impossible.

No, nowadays I’d see him as a pundit:

A smar...

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The Beast is coming for you,

The Beast is all around;

The Beast is here, the Beast is there,

He barely makes a sound.

He can appear quite harmless,

At least if you’re alert;

But when the Beast sees your guard drop,

His angry slap will hurt.

Do not try conversation;

The Beast prefers to act.

He possesses zero morals

And precious little tact.

The Be...

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Perhaps it was for decades held in check

By solid types who played a proper game,

But just behind this smokescreen did there lurk

An angry monster with no heart or shame?

Do we now see America for real,

Which kicks the sand in every weakling’s face,

Which flexes up its booster-bulging pecs,

Whose leaders think they own the global space?

Discretion and that old-wor...

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You wouldn’t want your family to know

The awkward details of your working day.

So don’t pollute the breakfast table chat

And put your trusty methods up on show.

It’s best to leave them locked behind your door

When you head back each night at half past five,

And talk about home comforts over meals;

Your loved ones won’t suspect you flout the law.

A rigid separation...

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From the charity of distance

He thumbed his nose

As the fat soldier approached.

Soon, looking down the barrel,

He just had to laugh

At the soppy-serious countenance,

And kept on laughing.

Just then, a gun went off;

The laughter stopped.

In that brief instant,

A part of all our futures died.

And, for what it’s worth,

A thousand people cried.

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A man thrusts a leaflet at me.

I don’t like arguments - ask anyone -

So I just smile and say ‘no thanks’. He scowls.

And yet we feel on a cusp here;

We speculate, as the day looms,

Near a vast, unintended edge,

Counting the hours, one by one.

No right or wrong now;

No black or white.

Nothing but a cold spiral, receding,

Darkly, to the end of memory.

...

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Working himself into a frenzied state,

He called up his fiancée on the phone.

Excited, in a quite alarming way,

Imagining the bed on which she lay,

He cried out, in a strange, mesmeric tone:

‘Be with you soon, my love; won’t be too late!’

Within this sub-plot, this domestic scene,

Lurked one more exploit under his control:

A schoolyard hit, precisely as a pin,

A hun...

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Once again, our thoughts turn to Auden,

Talking art in a Europe on the brink.

As springtime breaks, the bird of peace has flown;

The sick old men dispense the taste of death.

And Icarus? Nobody would care now

(Just as no one seemed concerned at the time);

An exhibitionist whose stunt went wrong.

While, on streets, a billion screens flicker

With dances of destruction th...

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A village in decline,

Where young do not come back;

The old folks keep on ageing:

This is a one-way track,

Which is not new, of course;

It was forever thus:

Tear-stained sons and daughters

Would board the early bus.

But this time gaps appear,

Whose like we never saw;

The thin supply dissolves

In casualties of war,

For boys arrive home wrapped

A...

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As the first one fell,

They all shouted: ‘Missed!’

As the second one fell,

They all shouted: ‘Missed!’

As the third one fell –

Enraged, he drove to the outskirts,

Eager to conjure up the words

For death throes of expired luck,

To paint the smell of burning flesh.

But no words arrived. Nothing came.

Remains were pulled from the remains.

Late...

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Expelled from here in his first months of life

And taken from his birthpace to elsewhere

By parents, in a desperate embrace;

Coarsened by the blaze of city lights.

Here, it’s neither one thing nor the other:

Too crowded to support a haven’s peace,

Too vacant to give out the urban vibes.

Smashed windows evidence its mild decline.

Yet he returned, despite the vile r...

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They’re going to strip you naked;

They’ll strip you of your clothes

And strip away your dignity

Down to your freezing toes.

They’ll strip apart your honour,

Diminishing your worth;

You’ll be among the cheapest

Of those who dwell on Earth.

The last dregs of your self-esteem

Will be dissolved in bile;

They’ll show you off inside a cage,

So you’ll live on a ...

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If you grovel to a bully,

You won’t become his friend.

He’ll keep on squeezing you for more;

Demands will never end.

If you grovel to a bully,

He will not be impressed;

He’ll pocket everything you give

And come back for the rest.

If you grovel to a bully,

He’ll think you can’t refuse,

So your inadequate response

Means you are bound to lose.

If you...

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Emboldened frat boys, in denial mode,

Egg on flat-earth freaks shinning up the walls;

With whoops and yells, they’re praying for a slip,

The raw meat on the pavement just the job

For tech-thin specimens who spout the lies

Each time that someone undeserving dies.

Outside, the times are hard in snow and ice,

But no one gives a monkey’s in the warm;

The big boys’ moon mac...

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You say you want peace,

So silence your guns,

Roll back your tanks;

Don’t drop your bombs

Or send off drones.

Don’t mock the blood

Of the fallen,

Their savaged skulls

And shattered bones.

You say you want peace,

So unclench your fist.

You need to show

A little love,

And to be kind

And not to maim,

Destroy or kill.

But, sad to say,

I doubt you...

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Boots on the ground,

Lights in the face;

The new world order

Falls into place.

No need for laws,

No need for rules;

The mighty win,

The weakest falls.

Dictators smirk,

The tyrants grin;

No comeback now

For reigns of sin.

The truth is dead,

Long live the lies;

Justice is served

Between the eyes.

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Her habit, during nights deprived of peace,

Of dark skies savaged by the usual crowd,

Was to tell the world in her loudest voice:

‘For God’s sake, listen; this madness must cease!’.

But no one did, although she shouted loud.

Close by, stunned citizens with no choice

Took comfort in the echoes of her scream,

While they browsed damage as though in a dream.

Today she was ...

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We’re not the type to shed a tear;

We’re rather stoic as a rule.

Our jaws are square, our cheeks stay dry,

And yet you’ll know the reason why

We’re crying for America.

The tinpot sheriff waves his gun;

His henchmen giggle from the back.

The landscape is replete with lies;

As one more blameless victim dies,

We’re crying for America.

The air is thick, the coin...

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It would be nice to have one,

To distinguish right from wrong

According to the needle.

It would be nice to have one.

Most of us do, more or less;

It helps us pick a wrong’un,

To get behind the decent,

Cheering for the worthy side.

Some, of course, have long lost theirs,

Or never had one at all.

Attracted to the baddies,

They have no place to shelter

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Years, like decades, may end up dishonest.

This year has been the most dishonest of years;

A year of old men who wallow in hate.

They get their stupid kicks from war and death,

And wield their pudgy pens like howitzers.

Not much to recommend it, you might think,

Yet, somewhere, a woman helps her neighbour,

A girl gives succour to a wounded boy,

And suddenly, we see can...

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Here, only some wrinklies

Will remember him now;

But the French still recall

‘Les Beaux Jours de Tony’,

When, the toast of Paris,

He crooned beside Sacha

And bested Miles at will,

With the meanest of horns.

His name, no burden there,

Would melt the gallic heart.

Then the trouble started:

Love – cheap, undiluted,

With the shabbiest ends –

The company he kept,

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It has a stubborn streak, the truth;

It does not bend to suit its time

Or cover up somebody’s crime.

Equivocation’s not its style.

Which makes it sad for the chancers

Who find the truth so hard to tell

And propagate their lies. Oh well,

Let them muddle through, for a while.

And those who enjoy pretending

Find that the truth gets in the way.

‘This should be c...

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Some are born with silver spoons,

Some have laboured down a mine;

Too many, far too early,

Put an end to their life’s line.

Their journeys may be silky smooth,

Though some live like a rake,

But when their time of play is done

Life’s fragile thread may break.

The last walk to the wicket,

The final ball they bowl,

Gives way to empty hours,

When fear wi...

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Help!

Santa’s

Brand new wheels

Have been held up

In gigantic drifts;

He skimped on the snow chains.

Back to the reindeer next time.

This Christmas risks cancellation,

As glum kids stare at empty chimneys.

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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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When the war comes, we try to look our best.

We comb our hair and flash a cheery smile,

While digging out our most arresting clothes.

We slap on perfume, rouge or after-shave,

To give a top impression as we queue

And trust such elaborate adornment

Will soften each and every body blow.

Of course, such moves are bound to be in vain;

The enemy enjoys our togged-up state

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You live the season of grovel,

Of royal visits, Nobel Prize.

A gaudy blanket of faint praise

Spreads out before your very eyes,

And no one makes a mention of

Your record of pathetic lies.

You’re sitting on your gilded throne,

Accumulating all your cash;

You take revenge upon your foes

While spouting out your daily trash,

And will not bother to turn up

And figh...

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Someone said it: Time is a thief.

It takes a part of us each day.

At first, it doesn’t seem too much:

A single hair, a shard of skin,

A tiny speck of recollections;

But the tally mounts, the mirror

Documents this slippery slope.

Time, we know, is a one-way bet;

Such a lot goes unrecorded.

Our memories cannot keep up,

So even at our peak the gaps

Expand like hu...

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At the songs of the birds,

My heart erupts with joy

And streams of colour fill my world.

At the songs of the trees,

I catch the rusty leaves

Which crumble, softly, in my hand.

At the songs of the clouds,

I imagine myself

Floating, at untold altitudes.

At the songs of the grass,

I listen, intently,

For unlikely scraps of news.

At the songs of ...

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When objects are transported we take care,

Imprinting the word ‘fragile’ on the box;

So when they are dispatched to who knows where,

They are preserved from damage and from knocks.

But when it’s people threatened by our strikes,

We never stick a label on their backs;

Presuming they form part of our dislikes,

We offer no protection from attacks.

Perhaps a living pa...

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