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Music of The Christmas Tree Monoculture
There is no birdsong hereThe only light comesIn the precious minutesAt dawn and again at duskWhen the planet’s rotationBrings the Sun to the horizonAnd its beams splay outBeneath the dense conifer spreadWhere the wind orchestratesAn arrhythmic swish and hissOf Norwegian Spruce needlesBroken only by swathes of silenceThis mournful brushingIs relentless as the wavesOn the eastern →
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on Ukraine
Palm Sunday, SumyHoly Week preparationThe Devil rides in~n.b. Moscow moves from supposed ‘military operation’ to full-blown terrorism. Churchgoers and a full public bus, guilty of getting in the way of a double missile strike on an ordinary street in Sumy, this very morning. CLP 13/04/2025 →
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on reconciliation
to wipe the slate cleanopen your eyes to their painwash their wounds with your tears~n.b. Coventry cathedral, blitzed and rebuilt with this sculpture ‘Reconciliation’ (Reunion), by Josefinaq de Vasconcellos (1977). It imagines a couple embracing over a line of barbed wire. CLP 11/04/2024 →
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Mud
They found a pictureFrom before the callMe in football kitArms crossedA scowlI left that shirtSpotlessCleanAnd dryI’ll soon be backMy hollow lieI lovedMudOn my knees and handsIn earsHairWith bumpsA little bloodPromise of a scarColours wonIn sportNowI restUnder some foreign fieldMud’s filledMy throatLungsNose and eyesNaught was sportThat July dayAs my platoonReturnedTo clay~n.b. The simple detail of the →
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The Joy Has Gone / Muzak / Bones
Spare me this muzakThis rolling newsfeed24 hours – no codaOstinatoA builder’s skip fullOf disposable nappiesAt dawn, with ratsAt noon, in full sunAt dusk, with fliesThe witching hour passesMore disposable nappiesAre piled onOn the hour, every hourOstinatoHuman interest storiesWho writes this stuff?¡Ay!One could not make it upThe stench buildsOstinatoThe chorus of bluebottlesDrown the choirsOf widowedOrphaned, the →
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on Ukraine
just gone out to playHigh-precision missile strikenine children murdered~n.b. While Washington clowns around with money, Moscow targets the innocent. What’s wrong with these people. Money comes and goes, life is precious. CLP 05/04/2025 →
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on Ukraine
Still conscious in theatreYour operation is being performedBy two morticiansSeeking to embalm youWhile you fight for breathWar, your anaesthetistTurns up the gasAs these crowbeaksScavenging your convulsing flesh Squabble over your vitals ~ CLP 02/04/2025 →
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on Ukraine
A knock on the doorYour son will never returnYou laboured in vain~ n.b. One thousand Russian mothers a day are being told that the birth pains they endured are nothing to the unending pain of loss they will suffer from today. What hollow gains Moscow is making. CLP 18/02/2025 →
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on Primrose Corner
hedgerow’s crumpled gaproses tied to the hazelbouquet of sadness~n.b. Without which this would be just another pretty spot on a country lane. CLP 16/02/2025 →
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on assimilation
Words spoken and heardCame out distinctly NorfolkThis stops, right now!~ n.b. I am not from here. Life brought me here. I do not want to lose my sense of identity. CLP 15/02/2025 →
Journey of Words 