There was a cloud of purple winged butterflies,

fluttering to and fro, settling like thistledown

on the flowers and leaves of the thickly wooded

slopes of the rising morning misted mountains.


Bees hummed amidst the ruby red geraniums, and

their tiny legs filled with he mysteries of multi

grains of pollen, carry back to their hives the 

richness of royal jelly and revitalising honey.


Crashing through the undergrowth an awkward

aardvark snuffles its way through the shifting 

grasses. Ants flow freely along the fingering

branches of the battered and broken beeches.


Life was luxurious in its capacity to feed and 

grow without greed and grumbling until, we

invaded their land, cutting down their trees,

burning their homes and their happy future.


Slowly, inexorably we created a desert where

life had teemed and twittering birds had sung, 

destroying the beautiful world and its balance

and despite the hour we defy the truth and 







Children in Chains

 Proudly the traders stood, as the ship came to port,

T’was in Bristol, not so long ago whence they came,

Each full of self importance, watching their black

gold thrust from the very bowels of a boat to hell.


They stood in chains, naked, on show,  picked over.

Each body demonstrated to the purchasers their 

potency as bulls and cows, muscles for work and

the children stood between, dazed and drowned


in the tears of their mothers who stared at those 

with money in their pockets and dogged drudgery

in their minds, mindful that some would bear the

brunt of their brutal beatings, rape and by-blows.


Sleeping in fits and with stripe plastered backs

they sought such seeds of courage to continue

and we, who subjugated friends, should hang 

our heads in stead. We are the shamed. We did


not ask. We did not look and we do not today.

The slaves are everywhere still ,and we block

out their suffering and voices crying while they

die to our fever for fashion, fast food, fuelling 


a trade at the cost of children’s lives and creating 

a customer that perpetuates slavery for personal

gain, is blind to the beatings and a benighted 

people improperly punished into paving the way 


to destroy a child’s future, they assault them, they 

abuse them, 

attack them 














but this.

It its time to be shocked, to be counted and stand up

to the bullies,

time to brave the bludgeoning staffs of

cheap goods,

and time to pay the


of those things we want ourselves,






I have a Dream.

“I have a dream,” he spoke clearly

and the people cheered and agreed.

while government grew the cult of 

‘white supremacy” no Klu Klux Klan,

begat by burning crosses, visible

but the silence of white supremacy

shouted through the establishment

til the rootedness grew like bindweed


but only those who threaded their

twisting origins can yank them out.

Only they can answer the question

of blindness and institutional racism.

Those who have never felt less than,

who have never experienced the hurt

of instant dislike because of their skin,


those who have never had to battle

to be believed nor struggle with a

police officer deaf to their cries,

‘I cannot breath,’ lies solemnly, squarely

at their feet and they will be found

wanting, if they are unable to repent

of denying Christ who was black.

And so we kneel and names

are called as the grim gauntlet

is laid afresh.

Super Powers

The labyrinth closes its teeth upon 

the walking weary, brides of empty pockets,

and plates weighted with weeds for food,

and the hungry minotaur of wealthy governments

nibbling at their ills and taking away their children.


Each turn brokered a new agreement to supplement 

their lot,  and take away any rights and dreams, turning

them against each other so that separated they slowly 

slip into the chasm of constant conservative power.


A voice is raised to vilify the constructionists and 

to try to find a way out of the torturing, twisting 

entanglement and escape the perplexity of rules

that endanger, imprison, imperil and exterminate.


The minotaur roars and the voiceless scatter and

the one who speaks? Silenced and slammed until

others afraid to speak wear their masks and hushed 

hoping for heroes but unwilling to be counted as one.