john cooper

Biography

I have enjoyed writing stories and poems all my life I have no idea if my poems are interesting or humourous or noteworthy in any way.All i know is I enjoy writing.I stopped writing a couple of years ago, my life became more chaotic than I anticipated.I missed putting pen to paper, so here I am, on the hunt for inspiration.

Samples

The Dead Soldier of Woolwich Turning on my T.V set I witnessed the news Dumbfounded at the images I was staring, quite bemused With hatred burning in his eyes White soldiers blood on his black skin What kind of a crazy world Is this we’re living in? They drove a car into him Knocked him off his feet Dragged him like a rag doll Killed him in the street What was the motivation? Why did the fundamentalists Long to have the soldier’s blood Trickle down their wrists? With wide open eyes an assailant Waved a bloody carving knife Ranting in our mother tongue “Our God said take a life” They claim their brothers far away Are being killed each day And that was why the soldier On the street in London lay The soldier promised Queen and country His body he would give Picked at random, murdered Where he would think it safe to live On the cold hard bloody concrete The soldier’s fate was sealed But is it any better dying In a far off foreign field? Politicians condemned the murder Politicians had their say Politicians said the terrorists Will never get away Yet, still the Woolwich soldiers dead And a fact is still a fact Politicians tell us “carry on” Politicians need to act Ancestors came for better lives Free to roam the land We offered them a peaceful home Shook them by the hand We embraced them Made them welcome Gave them what we could Now their son’s hands are covered With the Woolwich soldiers blood The police arrived in numbers Murderers shot down And the blood that spilled, it dripped Into the drains of London town The Forensics people dressed in white Around the soldier built a tent Inside was one reason Why our world is torn and bent The radicals keep killing After preaching to themselves They claim they read it in the Koran Pulled off the Mosque’s dark dusty shelves If their God condones the bloodshed Their God is not divine If their God said kill the soldier Are we all in the firing line? If seeds of hate are planted Hatred will be grown Opinions formed, statements read There are trumpets to be blown But those horns we blow are futile As is a cold revenge attack Whatever path we wish to walk Won’t lead the soldier back Time will pass we know it Mother’s tears must all be cried The murderers are questioned The murderers are tried The murderers are locked away But what has it all cost Lee Rigby paid the highest price When his life was lost

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