In sleep I see the nail

Pass through the yielding flesh;

Jesus knew about that.

But we are skin and bone,

Already. No reserves

Of fat or of muscle.

Bare bones. No resistance.

Every strike and rumble

A nail, hammered, pinpoint,

Into the joints and cracks.

The torment forcing us

Towards strange submission.

Soon we could be up there,

On the cross, con...

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The moon shines up above:

New, crescent, half, gibbous, full,

Waxing, waning,

Dodging behind a scudding cloud.

Its complete repertory,

Its whole thing.

At least they’ll never get the moon.

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‘Put a brick in the edifice,’

Said the man climbing up the wall.

‘It will reach so high,

It will touch the sky,

Till the day it begins to fall.’

‘But what’s the point?’ I enquired,

‘If it ends up being destroyed?’

‘From out of the rubble

We’ll build back the double,

To make sure that we stay employed.’

‘That strikes me as strange,’ I replied.

‘Because it ...

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The putty on the antique frame

Is crumbling in my dreams;

The richly patterned tablecloth

Comes free at all its seams.

The neatly-tended flowerbed

Turns wild and overgrown;

Once-pristine grassy spreads of lawn

Are patchy and unmown.

The wondrous spectrum of our world,

Its subtle, shifting slants,

Gives way to cheapskate slogans

And simple-minded chan...

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This used to be my street,

This used to be my home,

This used to be my land.

I do not understand

And cannot fathom why

Things got so out of hand,

So much has been destroyed,

So many had to die.

These simple-minded times

Have carved the perfect tool

To camouflage the truth

And take us for a fool.

It turns out that this war

Is no one’s fault at all.

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The life blood of the being of our world

Is thinking, creativity and art;

These bourgeon through our minds and through our veins

And make us feel uplifted in our heart.

Their practice may produce art few will like,

And writings with which many won’t agree,

But comfort’s not the point of inspiration,

At least not when society is free.

But those in power, of whateve...

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Tears

Trickled

        Down her cheeks

        At the sight of

               The empty stocking,

               The house, unvisited.

                      While, next door, Father Christmas

                      Looked at his watch, zipped up his bag

                     And roared home for breakfast in his Jag.

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It’s quite the fashion now to bash

Those journalists who seek the truth;

As years flow by, more are cut down,

Or languish, silenced, in their youth.

As humans they are fallible

And are rebuked for their mistakes,

But hard men seek to shut them up

When they play for the highest stakes,

And can’t afford to be faced with

Exposure through detailed research,

To ...

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The fractured walls of wickedness in war

Are on display each day at any time.

The morning tittle tattles rise and fall

And poets churn out verses in sweet rhyme,

But somewhere, here or not so far away,

A child is killed by missiles from above,

A mother grieves for her departed son

And husbands weep for what they think was love,

While no one makes the evil men account

For...

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You don’t need much brains to share a tweet

(Tech Bros will help you if you can’t).

Just flash up vile messages on your screen

And give them a big MAGA slant.

Insult a battered country and its chief,

Say that his time is almost up,

And inform him that all future funding

Will be dropped in a paper cup.

Here’s what the tweet said, in more precise terms:

Ukraine’s...

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I’ll show to him the courtesy

He never showed to me;

I’ll meet him at the White House

With no conspiracy.

I’ll help with the transition

In ways he never did,

And will not throw my toys about

Like some spoiled teenage kid.

And won’t pretend we won the vote

Or claim to have been cheated

And will not start a riot

Because I was defeated.

I’ll shake hi...

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With their grunting and their oinking,

They parade around the pen.

For all their affectations,

They’re the angriest of men.

Their litany of grievances

Spawns shrill dishonest whine;

We’re living in the conman’s age,

This is the time of swine.

They soil your information

To camouflage their faults;

All traces of wrongdoing

Are locked deep down in vaults.

They...

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Let’s ease up on the green crap,

The climate’s not too bad;

Some summer heat in winter

Should make us feel quite glad.

Ditch all the regulations

That pessimists adore;

Give people what they dream of:

More flights, more stuff, more, more.

Rev up your petrol guzzlers

And roar down country roads;

Let’s motorise the planet

Through trucks with monster loads.

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They call them the disruptors,

Trump and Musk and Co.

But what do they disrupt?

Not themselves, oh no!

Not their balance in the bank,

Or property portfolio.

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Never mind the wounded,

Never mind the dead;

Shake hands with the cheeky chap

And pat his shiny head.

Never mind the blood

That’s dripping from his hands;

Kneel right down and grovel

In front of where he stands.

The cheeky chap is on a roll;

The BRICs are dancing to his tune.

A warrant waits for his arrest,

But might as well be on the moon:

For t...

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He does not wear life

As life should be worn,

And seems not to think

That we should be kind,

That people need hope,

And not resentment,

That honesty wins

Over packs of lies.

If he gets the nod,

We are all losers.

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The trees begin to wilt and fade;

Another year is on the fall.

Though autumn can defy the odds,

The winter’s cold is bound to call.

The daytime’s relegated role

Is limited to minor parts;

Discarded leaves drift down to earth

In patterns of the purest arts.

In nights replete with cloudless chill,

We shiver at the crisp-cut moon;

The powdered snow beneath our ...

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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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You may have the misfortune to

Live upstairs from or right next door

To somebody they want to kill.

It’s not your choice; you have no voice

In whose blood they would like to spill.

And, being close, it could be you,

Who sees the bomb fall through their floor.

No one's fault. The luck of the draw.

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They munch at scraps of bread

And gulp their meagre drink;

They borrow someone’s phone

To make one final call,

Then scrape up what he asks

To squeeze into the boat

And shiver as the sea

Sets out its fearsome stall.

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We don’t have much time; sooner or later

This planet of ours will hit the buffers.

By then weak excuses or fake facts won’t work,

Nor saying: ‘well, it’s always been like this.’

Hot air is no defence against the heat;

The war, unfought, starts to flex its muscles.

It seemed so different the last time round,

As smiling faces sauntered on the bridge,

Seeking the usual gl...

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In the language of communiqués, we say:

‘We will do whatever it takes’,

But in Kyiv, Kharkiv or Kramatorsk,

As nighttime falls and warheads once again

Wend their way between wide-open cracks,

The heart of one more mother breaks.

And our reply? ‘Look at the big picture;

This sort of thing is anecdotal.

A tiny fraction of the total.’

Pah!

From inside each plus...

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What are we fighting for?

Ukraine will win this war.

By gambit or caprice,

Ukraine will live in peace.

Though enemies have tried

To dent a nation’s pride,

Their onslaught is defied.

Ukraine will win this war.

Though cities crash and burn,

The displaced will return,

And conflict will adjourn.

Ukraine will live in peace.

For freedom will prevail

...

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Maybe my enemy enjoys a joke,

When seated round a table with his mates.

I can believe that he’s a decent bloke,

Except when the demand of war dictates.

Perhaps he likes his football at weekends;

His mother might still bring his cup of tea.

Yet now it’s captured land that he defends,

And if he’s ordered he will shoot at me.

Our paths may well have crossed when we w...

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Time poses as a ticking god

Engaged in forward creep,

And is revered by billions

Who rise, work, love and sleep.

But time is mere illusion,

Predictable and crass;

Relaxing on its lounger,

It makes us look an ass.

We race to catch the morning train

And stay late for the boss,

But when we need the slightest break,

Time will not give a toss.

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I took one in the back,

And fell down on the ground.

I sought a friendly face,

And saw one that I knew,

Approaching me at pace:

A pal from student days,

Now on the other side.

‘I’m not to blame,’ he says,

And shoots, in the same place.

‘It’s business, it’s not you.’

His words seemed quite profound,

(I don't think I replied)

Yet they took me aback,

As I lay th...

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The clowns and the madmen are led away,

Kicking and screaming, kicking and screaming.

The brand-new Bentley is brought out to play,

Factory-gleaming, factory gleaming.

The streets are swept free of the dust and muck,

Spit-clean and polished, spit-clean and polished;

Around lies the city’s ardour and luck,

Smashed and abolished, smashed and abolished.

As simpering rules...

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Turn out in November, don’t hesitate;

Sit on your hands and it may be too late.

Scruples don’t mean you just sit and observe,

If you want the President you deserve.

Though candidates will never be ideal,

The better one seeks to rally and heal.

To occupy the White House is to serve,

Choose wisely the President you deserve.

Respect for democracy and its ways

Shou...

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We feel bad about our provocation;

We didn’t mean to cause you such upset.

Of course, you are innocent and blameless;

Our troops were only sent in for a bet.

Our little strategic incursion

Was even-handed and sincerely meant.

There was no wish to violate your borders;

No malice was contained in our intent.

Wait a second, though! At provocation,

You’ve shown you...

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I’ve got the perfect excuse:

I wasn’t there, I am too young,

I don’t speak the language,

And would have been too far away.

Perfect, but nothing like good enough.

In life’s harsh light, we were all there;

Young, old, dead, alive or unborn:

We all know what happened.

Condemned to be cogs in the machine,

Nobody can do the dodge now;

No one can hide and say

‘It’s nothi...

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Every performance celebrates new life,

Since music will outlast our mortal form.

The melodies which freeze us to the spot

Will still resound for centuries to come.

Achievements mount to places up above;

Responses should be equal to this height.

Cheap adjectives will never do the job,

Mere emotion doesn't give an answer;

Shedding tears is just a modern fashion,

As is howl...

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It’s never going to work;

You do deals with the tough,

But soon he’ll cut up rough

And do his dirty stuff.

He just can’t get enough.

He’s never satisfied

Until your flame has died,

Snuffed out by his dark side.

By then his grin’s as wide

As some cream-licking cat.

Though preaching peace and that,

His word is worthless tat;

He’ll rase your homeland...

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A gracious, shrewd commander,

He was one of America’s best.

His courage and his honesty

Raised him up above the rest.

Now is the time to pass the torch

To a sharper generation,

To keep alive his legacy

And take forward a great nation.

For spiteful, ugly ideas tread

Upon Washington’s hallowed ground.

The politics of angry lies

Risks engulfing all around.

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It wasn’t President Biden;

It wasn’t the FBI.

It wasn’t that old actor,

Or some TV anchor guy.

It was a loner with a rifle,

That he borrowed from his pop;

And once again America’s dream

Is the nightmare that won’t stop.

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On summer evenings with not much to do,

The wind blows, soft enough to hear my words.

I ask the wind to bring relief,

I ask the wind to feel my pain,

I ask the wind to understand.

But the wind does not reply.

Yet, deep in private moments,

The wind knows more than you or I.

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He waddled his way to the Kremlin

As some kind of honest broker,

But anyone watching the horror show

Viewed him as one sick joker.

With his huff-puff of lies and flannel,

He claimed that he came in peace;

If only Kyiv would listen,

The bloody destruction would cease.

Then just a few days later,

Ukraine suffered thirty-plus dead;

Idiots can sometimes be usefu...

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Oh, those fantasy days

Of narrow houses, long gardens,

Backing on to the railway line,

Where passengers marvelled

At the symmetry of washing,

Doing its flappy each-way act.

The vegetable patches

Gobbled up the dust and grime,

And smiles were extracted

From the school of hard knocks.

At sunset, big, proud men

Would contemplate their lot,

And bow sun-fired heads

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They are a singing, swinging crowd,

They chant their slogans brash and loud,

They go as far as is allowed,

And, in their daydreams, further still.

They sip champagne and spit their bile,

They chuck their rubbish on a pile,

Yet, when the cameras roll, they smile –

Although a tad against their will.

They smooch and stroke and clap their hands

To music from some h...

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Some people say home’s where the heart is found;

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the being there,

The rooted opposite of somewhere else.

Fond memories may have tipped the scales

In favour of this slow, contented place:

The local shops, the chatter’s usual sound,

The morning stroll to coffee on the square,

The precious banality of passers-by,

Though each slab of this ecosphere wi...

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You were sure of entertainment

With artists who cavorted in the buff;

The narcissistic footie fans with phones

Are made of much less sterner stuff.

They amble on and look for snaps,

But they will never capture any hearts;

Their naked predecessors could turn heads

By flashing tastefully their parts.

An age of innocence has gone,

Of Erika, and Michael Angelow;

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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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‘A truth denied is truth decried’,

I once heard some wise person say.

But what if truth is optional,

Or fuzzy-edged or ill-defined?

(The point seems rather underlined).

Then how differs fact from fiction

On this or any given day?

There is no future and no past;

It’s just a matter of control.

What has happened and will happen

Depend upon our latest whim

(The pr...

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Let’s hear it for these little men,

Let’s hear it for the pompous twits;

Let’s hear it for their backward views,

Their entourage of nasty shits.

Let’s join them turning back the clock

And pumping rubbish in the air;

Let's make sure their election day

Is anything but free and fair.

Give them the room to swagger on,

As they bash human rights and gays,

And stru...

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I remember the old dictum

About having to break some eggs,

But don’t recall the guided bombs,

Great cities beaten to a pulp,

Or blowing off somebody’s legs.

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A magnet hung in the big, bright store,

Between the household and the sport,

When down came a pair of guided bombs

And more innocent lives were cut short.

Far away across the border,

Pampered strategists play chess;

They do not know the victims,

And are bothered even less.

This is the new reality

Of war devoid of shame,

Where women, men and children

Becom...

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The naughty little boy:

He likes to roam around,

Invading foreign ground.

Harsh methods he’ll employ,

The naughty little boy:

He measures out the soil

That he intends to spoil

Or preferably destroy,

The naughty little boy:

A foe who stands alone

Is butchered by a drone:

His brand-new, shiny toy,

The naughty little boy:

No opposition views

Are broadcast on ...

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We bathe in contradiction for a while,

Which harshness of proximity creates.

Magritte did not intend to reconcile;

Stand back or near, the viewer still debates.

Where does the darkness end and light begin?

It seems as though the night should not be here.

Yet lower down, the slowly gaining gloom

Sucks out illumination from the room.

Outside, a lamp burns weakly in its f...

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Perhaps the closest we get to music:

Uncluttered, pure, free from excess.

Their simplicity can be deceptive;

In reality, nothing is simple.

Everything, however, is deceptive.

Maybe that’s the way it is meant to be;

We must be deceived by their deception,

Woven by passion, not by intention.

These pieces are not innocent, of course;

Beyond a lilting theme of hope and ...

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We have become defined by war.

Two years ago, we had the love.

Builders played and danced to our tune,

This fantasy world embraced us:

Plucky sorts, hung out for applause.

Now we are just part of the kitsch.

Since that time – more dead, injured and burned,

But not only that. Deeper marks

Have eaten into Free Ukraine:

The tears of a vanished childhood,

The shame of shr...

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There’s the old smoothie, turning on the charm.

Hunched behind his desk, far away from harm.

He doesn’t seem to care or give a toss

About the lives that he condemns to loss.

There’s the old smoothie, targeting Ukraine.

Oblivious to death, amused by pain,

He knows the masses have nowhere to hide

And are fair game if they live on that side.

There’s the old smoothie,...

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