Possession and freedom

The flames were warming as darkness closed in.

She fidgeted as she waited.

Tonight was her’s and she nervously rehearsed

the words of her hurt and harm and healing.

Settling, the group expectantly turned,

some yawned and others looked at her, waiting,

waiting for her.

Mary moved and motioned to her to begin,

It had been Joanna last night and tears

had been softly shed

like showers after a drought.

‘It started when I was 7,’ she whispered,

startling them all into silence, as she

a small frightened child again.

Mark held her hand as she tripped over the words,

“M my uncle came to s stay and insisted I

was to be skilled in calculus and science.”

My parents listened and agreed to 

a short hour once a day 

as a trial of my intelligence.

It started straight away.

He sat me on his lap

and gradually taught me

what some men desire

as well as diverse disciplines.

I said to my parents that

I wanted to stop studying.

I tried to tell them but words stuck

like a ship on a shifting sandbank. 

My uncle said I was a natural

and so terror and torture went on, til

one day my brother joined our class and 

for a while all was learning.

He started to take us to the square

and challenge us about commerce.

But sometimes my brother

could not come and, then

he took me to his friends

who taught me some more.

I lost my mind as I tried to forget,

I could no longer eat

I had nightmares and could no longer

sleep into forgetfulness,

I learned to mistrust,

I learned to lie,

I learned to hide myself,

Feelings in me were frozen,

I hated my own flesh.

Demons some call them

driving people to destruction,

As an excuse for deciding to

damage a child.

Powerful people in positions of trust.

Does nothing change?

Then one day lying on my bed at home,

longing for the grave,

He came to supper

and knew me.

He listened to me,

and unstuck memories, 

and somehow after

He prayed for me,

feelings and tears,

friendship and love

flowed from Him,

and little by little

I found me.

Alliterative Politics.


Alliterative Politics

Groans and grief and greying out of guarantees,

pouring in of power that puts politicians paramount

as they sort through mail, campaigns and tweets and

still they stick to the stultifying straightjackets of 

policies, proudly pushed past pleading public.

Burdens bearing down the battered poor

as they struggle to stave of sickness, starvation and

Benefits no longer benefitting but boldly break

their hearts harvesting their hopes

creating crises and keeping 

Corrupt crooked cravers of coin

Power protected. Purveyors of poor

driving destruction of dying denizens, with

wicked wiles wanting wads .


Momma !  Stop! Don’t do it!

Momma !  Stop! Don’t do it!

Her scream tore through the

fraying fabric of a life

already lived as a less than.

Evil rose up and the women

carried on, carrying on the devil’s work to

parody a full life given by God 

cut and sculpted by humanity.


Goodness arose and opposed the demon

of mutilating flesh

laws, enforced badly, scarred 

the mother’s destructiveness.

They turned on tiny babies.


The tender, soft cheeked 

mouth searching for sustenance,

too young to scream.

Now tears carving streaks 

on downy baby skin

as they cruelly carved away


her sexuality, and give her 

a life of pain. Curled in on herself,

seeking a protecting womb,

weeping tears that streamed down onto

a blood smeared mattress,

her mouth mewling for

a tiny form mutilated for life.


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