As soon as his last friend had gone,

He felt, for the first time, alone,

With no one to make sense of life,

Nobody to call on the phone.

When he called out in need of help,

Or roared like a lion in pain,

Who would be there to listen now?

Who would ever listen again?

The service had been a comfort,

The vicar was well up to speed,

But the empty chair by his s...

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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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Gaza: a father beats the floor in grief

As he feels his son’s last desperate breath.

It seems indecent to say any more,

As when, that evil Saturday morning,

A Holocaust survivor was cut down

During a crimson-coloured bout of rage.

I tell myself: this cannot be the best

That humankind has to offer. One day,

The innocent will inherit the Earth,

The puffball types in unifor...

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