Deadly Disease of War.

She turned to the sun and smiled

her weakness fading it fast,

the light had raised hope that

somehow, now would be other.


She tolerated the torment of

inhuman hunger and grief, as

she was too young to know

of a people punishing children.


Her heart fluttered and fitted as

the sun rose to its heights, and

shifted her 





as death came to claim her.


Her sister watched wearily

she’d tried to eat weeds, 

and her writhing bloated 

belly freed her spirit from pain,


unnoticed, like a petal of 

blossom, floating gently back

to mother earth, snatched from

a frost bitten, bewildered tree.


No milk soft mother, foraging 

father or big, brave brothers,

they died weeks ago when

the army came and hell broke out.


They lay together rotting, forgotten

by a world,          wise in covid19,

but deaf to a child’s choked off

cry for crumbs from the rich man’s table.

The Tory’s Party

Oh, God! it is bad.

They’ve screwed us over

and over again, each time

they speak it is with a fancy

forked tongue, tracing a journey

through their choices and our deaths.


Oh, Lord! it is grim,

I’m on m knees and weeping,

because my kith are hurting sore

and the NHS, the guardian of our lives

is being pushed to the bloodiest of limits.


Oh, love! it is cruel,

They’ve callously taken us,

as fearing fools, and frightened

us into believing they are doing all

that they can- when they trade in lies.


Oh, Covid19! you’re so good.

you will make us pots of money, 

and reduce the number of our elderly,

and we’ll be heroes because we served

the wealthy, arms dealers and well, ourselves.

Spring Death

The sun caught the shy violet, shedding

light on them, as they appeared like 

sapphires in the grass and gorse and

gave joy to the slow journeying.


They smiled at the swift, flying swallow

retuned to a cold and frightened land,

as it dipped and darted, diving for flies

while the fearing folk stayed in doors.


Slowly the spears of azure and pink

unfurled their bells and rang out for

the first Spring in history where nature

is free to frolic, and flower and fly.


Indoors the tears run liberally down

the faces of the grieving, gathered 

alone or on a screen,

where silently

they show shock

and sadness of their


losses. In hospital no one journeys

alone to death,

the NHS sees that they are comforted

but others wait at home, solitary,

silently, wanting December back again.

The Prayer of Good Friday


Was it the cross that wounded his soul?

As it tore at his every breath,

or the nails as they tore into flesh,

and thorns that shocked his skull,

even the lashes gouging out his flesh,

was their terror his true torment? Or


was it in the garden, where he made

a choice? Where he sweated blood, 

as the tortured do, and begged his

Father to let him stay heal and care.

“Yet, not my will,” he said, “but yours.”


The pain of parting and leaving a job,

part done. Leaving it in the hands of

the earth bound ones, to fight to scrap

to argue about ethics and kill each other.

to fight over the very meaning of a word.


Yet the truth he left to you and me

is simply to love Him, our neighbours

as ourselves, for the new world to dawn.

To care as Jesus did and to live

opposing prejudice and poverty.


Then, we shall see the kingdom come,

we shall smooth his bloodied brow

and set a smile on a face grimaced

in terror of the next breath, and those

fractured feet will walk free again.

Isolating Pain

Her clothes felt heavy and her shoes lead lined,

like in a nightmare when you run and run

and you just can’t get anywhere.


Her arm hung heavily at her side as big bruises

surfaced in darkening black and blue

her torn lip, a tortured broken face.


She was at her prison door and they said to her

Get out and come down the road to us.

We the police will find you safety.


Quietly, opening the wedge to a home less wrecked

and ushered the shivering children through.

What would be the cruel cost?


Hushed they walked through the blackening night,

towards a beacon of peace and hopefulness

then heard the running steps behind.


She pushed them up the drive of a waiting house

and hid behind the hedge while violence

ran muttering and threatening by.


They waited feeling the cold seeping through

their threadbare clothes grabbed in fright,

heard his oath filled cursing return.


Teeth chattering, huddled together she prayed,

and then they flitted like shadows down

the road and saw the man in blue.


He had set them onto searching for her, to fetch

her home, to bloody her battered body

but the Copper welcomed them in.


The doctor saw and treated her scars kindly

while the children stared with dead eyes

longing for comfort and a refuge.


Next they hid in a house without a view

a poor place that was simply the best

for the beaten, hopeless  homeless.

Isolating Hell.

She breathed onto the window, and

stared as the steam smeared her view,

slowly dissolving to droplets

dawdling down the pane and puddling.


Her eyes were stretched. She shook

from the horror of knowing, that

he was here all day, all night

by order of the British government.


A Pandora’s box opened by a virus,

would whittle further her frail 

form and she freaked out, as the 

forced isolation threatened her life,


for he would come, as always

and no escaping to school now, 

no safety and behaving normal for

a while. She could hear his approach,


an ogre in her ocean of tears. 

His partner would be no less a

predator as she bathed her and

blanketed her back in her bed.


Tears trickled down her cheeks

and tracked through, down her

throat, while her stomach clenched

and crying she whispered, let me die.


The face on the TV had said, “Stay in,

stay safe.” but how can they know,

of silent children, unsafe, imprisoned

in a sadistic paedophile’s den.


Cry out for her, shout out for them,

do not let them be unheard,

for the abuser lurks and cheers

as a child is forced to stay in.


If you have been affected by this contact the NSPCC 0800 1111

or for those over 18 0808 800 5000