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on Ukraine
In 1948, Steinbeck in A Russian Journal wrote of the Ukrainian people:They spoke anxiously of war, they had so much of it.Our towns are destroyed alreadywhat more can it do?We will defend ourselvesin the snowand in the forestsand in the fieldsWhat was a moment in historyis now a way of lifeWhat is the prizethese invaders →
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on Ukraine
Punch, counter-punchStab, thrust, bombAll the mothers knowLottery of life and deathHolds them at knife-pointIs this the final dice rollOr just another false dawnA fake news dayEdging then along until they hearThe boy’s key in the lockOr the postie’s fateful knock~ n.b. And so it goes on, more vicious by the day, more so by night. →
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on cricket
did you do your bestbetween the umpire’s call “Play”and his last of “Time”?~n.b. A game in which individuals contribute their best efforts to the team, as time permits; very much as in life itself. CLP 28/05/2025 →
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on May
it is a long monthwe have enjoyed warmer daysbut now pray for rainto Europe’s east warWe need human resourcesnot just munitionsnowhere is safe nowKyiv is attacked day and nightonly the dead restin the Holy Landa new testament writtenin blood of childrenthe wringing of handsringing of cash registersversus body-countnow The Genocideassumes a new currencycafé talk topictelevision →
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on Ukraine
What day is it?Does it matter?It’s raining bombsWhen the children are playingWhen the churches are openIs anyone still watching?Talk is cheapLives are cheapWhen money stalksThe Land of The FreeKyiv can’t buy a break~ CLP 25/05/2025 →
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on the bridge
Pollen from the rushesLies on the waterA layer of dust coating a mirroro becomes O grows into expanding ringsAnother o becomes O becomes expanding ringsAnother, another, a pauseAnotherslim shadows slip back from each splashmerge into the shade of riverbed reedsand anotherthe river becomes a pianola rollrandomly punctured by kisses from fishesa blackbird lays down a →
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on rain
Cooler at dawnWet streetsExcept under the broad umbrellasOf blossoming chestnut treesA shower of goldfinchesDrop onto the vergePecking at the tiniest insectsActive in the damp grassThe earth has darkenedAt last it is soft enoughTo a sculpt a footprintBy noon the Sun appearsA buzzard fans out its primariesCatches a thermalCries as it spirals upSpirals up and drifts →
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on truth
It is said The True will set you freeLove will set you freeSet yourself freeHow is that possibleWithout the key?These walls weren’t built by meI did not lock these steel doorsJustices blind to injusticeHeld the keyAs God is my witnessNo one tells youHow long it will beUntil the Truth sets you free~n.b. Another criminal waste →
Journey of Words 