Lockdown Terror

Creeping through to the cold kitchen,

desperate, daring to decant a  drink

into her dirty cup from her school bag

long since hung up, and the small

heart in the little girl clung achingly

to the hope that he would not hear.


Canned from his countless cans,

his cantankerous snoring filled her 

head and clutching the water she 

slowly sneaked past til carefully

clear, and carrying her thirst she 

tiptoes up the bare boarded stairs.


She sits on her dirty sheets and sips

some of the water, saving some for

the next time when he lashes out at 

her mum and furiously smashes their 

fragile life, swearing and shouting til

she, curled up tightly under her bed


breaks down, pleading prayers  to a

baby away in a messy manger, to

move her to where she hears music

but her Mum’s moaning in the bolted 

bathroom, shakily stemming the

silently, streaming blood, hopeless


and lost, deafens her to a crying child 

hurting, huddled in her tight place,

needing cuddles and swaddling.

Waiting til all was finally quiet she

looked from her virtual, ‘virus

barred’ window, and shouted silently,

her pleading pale thin face another


victim of a government, ill prepared, 

blindly following fiscal policies that,

fill the queues at the failing foodbank,

hail racism and mysogeny instead of

breaking the cruel chains of domestic

violence and viral child abuse. Our

children bait to emboldened bullies.


Absorbed he bent his     head,

listening,     to hear the echoes of days past

and hearing nothing, lapses into sleep

where he is young again, yearning.


She was there laughing, but with no 

name and waking he frustratedly 

tugged the rug, warmly wrapping his 

legs which no longer walked his way.


A noise startles him and turning, he

sees a stranger a sweet, mouth smile

on her face, sorry for what she sees,

her lover’s connection hard broken.


Tis his forgotten thrill of love too,

tears run down as the dark deep

sadness of a nowhere loss, holding

him close to gently dry his cheeks.


Love speaks and he hears sounds,

their unfamiliar shapes of confusion,

sinking in they soothe his soul and for 

 a moment his smile blooms again.


She silently shows photos of strangers,

and helps him with his cooling tea,

then kissing that cold cheek. she leaves

taking with her the echoes of his living.

The Passionate Waterfall

The strumming of the running stream, 

jumped and blundered, sloshing over 

rocks and boulders in its way, til toppling

lavishly, like lovers flinging caution 


to a wrestling wind, it waits and then

as an angel it falls, slowing motion,

creating rainbows, raindrops, rushing,

thundering as it collapses and crashes


into a waiting pool playing the music

of lost souls as it leaps in the air again,

squeezing by the next sensuous space,

slamming and tumbling, as it ricochets


and sparkles in the silver shined spray,

it ever  thrusting the water on and on,

til it sighs and slowly pools its passion,

to run deep and dark with desire.

A Thought

A thought is but a fleeting moment in time,

that like water slips into the small spaces

and trickling through pervading the whole

with its denigration or delight, hate or hope.


The trickling consequences of biased thinking,

busily blinds the sighted, and bruises the 

beauty of the hated, hunted, harried, human

now bowed down by steely opinionations. 


So, they fall prey to the purposeful prodding of

a few, who flayed them with the will of wealth, 

blighting the lives of black people, and pursuing

the goals of the racist generals of white elitism,


and I bend the knee to send out a new thought

that racism is wrong, it is right to resist, and 

right to rebel against the rigidity of thoughts

that have prorogued years of possibilities.