Wednesday, 9 November 2016


Here's a poem (while we're reeling) about Donald Trump winning the elections today

I don’t have the answers but I’m sure they lie in division,
A drip-fed, hyped-up climate creates easy blame decisions.
Bare arms and build a wall, because those sidelined for years
Are now segregated further, labelled cause of all possible fears.

"And you know we'll keep them out, 'cause we take care of our own",
Just ask the lads at the welfare line chewed down to the bone
In a boarded-up window neighbourhood,
But "things have never been so good."
They'll cut the corporation tax and call us free,
In that failed, fiat, trickle-down, greedy economy.

Each state left to its own devices,
When a system is so divisive,
I'm inclined to think that there's a cause-and-effect.
When we're caught up in a schism,
Phony talk and every ism,
And suddenly, the problem's being "politically correct".
It makes you start to wonder
Just how far we're going under
When we actively choose abuse through the person we elect.
Or when we're going to realise
Believing these unfounded lies
Leads to innocent bloodshed, what else did we expect?
And while we’re busy, blinded, lost, and eaten up by fear,
“Go back to sleep America, there’s nothing to see here.”
Distracted and oppressed, it’s each other they want us to to blame,
And by turning on each other, play our part in this crooked game.

Thursday, 3 November 2016

No Orgreave Inquiry

This poem is about the recent news that Home Secretary Amber Rudd has decided there will be no inquiry into the confrontation between police and miners in Orgreave in 1984. This decision is said to be based on the fact that there were no deaths. I can only hope this is reconsidered soon.

That day, there were no fatal wounds,
No fading pulses.
No final calls for mothers,
No "Quick, we're losing him."
In the weeks that followed, no funeral processions,
No wreaths and no mourning.
No widows and no wills.
But there was death alright.

The Grim Reaper stood in empty doorways,
Sought retreat in boarded-up windows.
Gathered in men's eyes and remained,
Chipped away at families until they were torn apart.
Hope was dust and to dust it returned. 
Ashes ripped through old work shirts strewn over bedroom chairs.
Make no mistake, there was death alright.

Death to an ideology,
Death to a hometown,
Death with no inquest.