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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‘Look at the big picture,’

Cried the man in the suit.

So I took his advice

And ignored the sniper,

The stiff, the nightly raid,

The trivia of grief.

I turned to the summit,

Its polished chandeliers,

Its underarm hygiene,

Its on-tap refreshment,

(‘Still or sparkling, Madam?),

While, in the dregs of war,

The uninvited crouch

And hope the shells will miss.

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Don’t shoot!

Stop the violence,

Stop the killing.

Don’t waste your time with gods,

Or clerics on the greasy pole,

Or warped ideology

Which tells you what to think,

Or the cult of the madmen,

The travelling circus,

The usual suspects,

The old men in suits,

The gap –

Between the theory and the practice.

Be yourself;

Lay down your arms,

Reach out your hand...

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A viper slides its way beneath the grass;

The animals of prey are on the prowl.

The innocent and helpless stand no chance

Against the savage tastes of hawk and owl.

Upstairs, forbidden lovers take the plunge;

Their beads of sticky sweat adorn the bed.

She’s fast asleep while he boosts up his pack;

Outside waits a procession of the dead.

The hunters beat the heavin...

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Each time that I observe the world,

I should spy beauty, peace and love.

Each time I listen, I should hear

The soft song of birds, or at most

The low hum of conversation.

But when I crane my neck,

Look up, down or sideways,

In front or behind me,

Or at some frantic screen,

Or catch imagined exploits,

Mouthed off on a train, or neighbours,

Hyped up in angry gatepos...

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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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They weep in Israel;

They weep in Palestine.

They weep in Ukraine.

The whole world should weep.

Time drifts by, faster than we think;

Death queues for its daily spoils.

Someone always cleans up afterwards.

The stubbornly alive cling on to love.

Condolences rain down;

Groups huddle, trying to empathise

And multiply excuses,

While a few, buoyed up by the circus ...

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If only we could get along

As neighbours, lovers and as friends;

To learn to sing each other’s songs,

And join hands as the world intends.

Some obstacle stands in the way

Of life in harmony and peace;

The children of all nations play,

But come adulthood this will cease.

For once toy guns and catapults

Are swapped for a more strong-armed state,

There seems to...

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It’s only anonymity

Which makes us go to war;

When soldiers meet up face to face

They wonder what it’s for.

They talk of friends and relatives,

About whom they all care;

Discuss the beauty of the world,

Which they delight to share.

They do not bow to nation states

Or military types,

Whose mission is to keep them down

By tapping on their stripes.

T...

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If you cry out loud that you favour peace,

A lot of people look at you and smile

And mark you as naïve and pat your head.

Yet surely peace should be the normal way;

Backers of war should justify their stance,

The four-star pundits, dealing arms of death,

Indoctrinating young (and mostly) men

To jump to commands and to kill each other

And all who block their path. The road t...

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