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the painter
this picture the family keptbut light no longer shinesin eyes cataracts had dulledno captivating smilenot in virile poseor grandiose settingno finery in the clothesa few strands of hairswept back across a weathered crownwith timelines etched deep into face and browsteel rim round glassessit comfortably on the nosea well-worn cream cotton coatheavy upon age-rounded shoulderswith life’s →
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on time
As I a child I wonderedWhat life was like beforeWar broke out in EuropeCricket played on village greensActors shining from silver screensTube trains, trams, omnibusesFull of people reading newsheetsEditorials and commentariesOn threat and riskThe rights and wrongsThe unlikelihood of something worseNo-one would be mad enoughTo fire the shot, to call a bluffTo cross the line, →
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on Ukraine
sunrise dulls night’s starsunder lunar indifferenceresistance is allthree years have spunwith nothing to celebrateexcept life itselfthis fight not overembattled Kyiv’s trams will runthere is still a pulsehospitals and schoolsbakeries and street marketsprecious exchangesmoney greases handsmerchants of war grow fatterUkraine their foir grasyellow and blue bandswheat sent by sea feeds the worldtherein grains of truthone man →
Journey of Words 