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on Ukraine
It’s autumn againThe bombs fall faster than leavesBonfires are madeFrom high risesmarket squaresbus stopsand government buildingsFruit hangs rotten in the orchardsWheat turns black on The SteppesThe men and women are at warThis is costing billionsBut if money talksNobody is listening~ CLP 09/09/2025 →
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Every Village Has A Wrong ‘un
What must it be like to beThe Only Thief in The Village?All the people point“There goes a wrong ‘un”They tell their friendsWarn passing strangersUpdate the neighbourhood WhatsApp group when you’re seen outQuestion your whereabouts when you stay inAs the only thief in the villageWhere can you fence the goodsWhen you’re banned from the local?Try and →
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on loss
we burble onfrom day to dayuntil the momentwhen nothing more is heardso suddenlyan innings endsa surprise to allnot least the departed batsmanno calling him backhis innings has been concludedscored by a double chevron in the bookhow out stated bluntlywhether caught, stumped, bowledrun out, hit wicketwe are all timed outeventuallythe sequence of runs marked downsketches out →
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on the island in the autumn
the weather comes tumbling up the Channelin clumps of cloudscasting thick shadowsjacket onwhen the droplets don’t look like stoppingjacket offwhen sunbeams burst through’til the next curtain’s drawnwhite horses riding the rolling greenare broken in on the shinglebeneath the rusting pierblown along the city terracesplane tree papery leaves stickto windscreens, flagstones, the soles of shoesslimy, slippery, →
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in Memphis (2022) / on Ukraine
We’re at a bus stopOn Elvis Presley BoulevardWe’ve been to checkThe King’s still deadAnd waiting thereIn Tennessee’s afternoon heatWe talk of EuropeWhat we’ve shared of itThe moral question?For a young Polish man from EnglandOn holiday with his fatherThere is no doubtI’d be going home to fightWith no thought of checking outHeroic resistanceRemember The AlamoThe Red →
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on Ukraine
24th August, 1991Tearing a strip off the Iron CurtainThe Ukraine Soviet Socialist Republic broke awayNo one said it would be easyKyiv wasn’t built in a dayOut of the maelstromThe stirring of the potThe plot and counter-plotA nation finding its feetAfter decades of decayWith grey painted over the cracksUkraine turned toward the light pouring through the →
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on television
when I’m ebbinglacking the fightto stand my own groundI give into the little screenbecome remotefrom realitywhen I have no moreenergy to engageI switch offswitch onand give into the unrelenting tidelet it wash over mewash away reality~ CLP 23/08/2025 →
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on Thursday
OvercastSome light rain pushed through by the cool north-easterlyTraffic moderate with the schools still offShe sat on the bus stop bench under the shelterTidy raincoat, hat and shopping bagWaiting for the bus to the cityLeads for her two patient, slightly heavy, dogs in her handThen she just rolled off the bench to her rightClump! Onto →
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on Ukraine
something straight out of The Brothers Grimminnocence of children betrayedin their thousandsabducted, shipped, farmed outblond hair, blue eyes their appealto childless Russian couplesconscripted to Moscow’s Young Armytaught to deny their birthplaceif they were ever old enough to know from where they sprang~n.b. Check it out, the War Crimes are not just the levelling of villages, →
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on August
Copper foils collect on the outfieldStubborn tufts of grass repay enthusiastic fielders with grazesThe cricketers’ whites are stained by streaks of blood, turf and dustOnce welcome cooling breezes of July have revertedTo deliver East Anglia’s usual desiccating chillPlayers debate whether to wear two shirts, or a sweaterAt home the shower temperature has been turned up →
Journey of Words 