2020 Slaughter

Timeless memories of days that mould

our families, and friends come round

for a coffee and a chat. While, the 

insistent echoes of government tell

us what they want us to hear and

what they wilfully want to do. And


so many hugless months have slowly

palled and painted faces with sadness

and tears of grief; often shed in lonely

funerals. A life abruptly cut off, and a

short sincere service – ending with no

friendly sharing of the persons life

over curling sandwiches, and sausage

rolls helped down with a bar bought drink.


Children stare out at an alien world

where play is absent from schools and

teachers stand back and learning is hard,

so, they master hand washing instead.


Some, watch from home, as they lie

cancer sick and like autumn leaves 

fall unnoticed into lamentable piles 

of colourful leaves, left to rot and 

return to the earth leaving tracks

of unhugged tears and lonely weeping. Yet


in a science laboratory somewhere not far

from their door, there are workers seeking

a viable vaccine; and others testing brutal

biological weapons to release, into

the void of senseless violence. And think

themselves progress til the virus enters

their homes and threatens their families.

But governments will fight on building

secret weapons that will murder and 

violate, that will destroy lives, economies,

socialising, livelihoods and still they

march on regardless





Children Drowning

The child gripped her father as the waves bounded over their boat,

and beneath it too. Lifting it high only to crash it down into the cold, 

cold waters of the North Sea. The salty sea water soaked her hair, her

clothes and slowly the dreadful, creaking carcass of wood cracking, and 

groaning; split, and rotted planks fell away leaving the poor 

sailors staring sightless at the cruel, cruel sea, while governments

talked endlessly of ways and means and blocks earning money and 

spending it fruitlessly; refusing to spend it on the seekers and cruel, 

cruel men and women stared sightless at the little body: a sign to the

world of the cost of freedom in a world bound to violence.

Death to the Rainforest

The engine broke the silence as it burst into life,

then plied its way through dirty plains pulling up

to gaze at towering trees alive with bright birds’

chattering and calling in alarm at the gruff roaring

of the massive monster rolling towards their roots.


They flew in consternation away from the trees 

making a rainbow cloud that delighted the driver,

but obediently he opened throttle and charged 

at that beauty, and love and birth and limitless 

opportunities with the tragic tools of tyranny.


The trees crashed to the ground and tiny leaf 

ants ran neath blundering, biting wheels, while

flowers of subtle hues, and harbingers of hope

were smashed and burned by the short sighted,

self centred,

will of humans heartily seeking hasty returns.


Blatantly destroying the hopes of billions around

the globe as deliberately they decided to loose

live threatening gases, killing for bucks natures

blotting paper, seeing nothing but barren fields

filled with forlorn frightened herds built to taste,


committing self destruction as the future unfurls,

While, in the doleful dismal not far away, work

tenacious teams, patiently prepping and planting;

with visions of a restored, rainbow hued rainforest 

where human’s see the glory and not the money.


If you would like to know how to help –

The tenacious team is 8BillionTrees.

The Butterfly Effect

The butterfly floated thru’ the feathered branches 

and silently shimmered against the darker bark.

‘This is good, so good,’ said God and delightedly

called other butterflies of diverse hues into life.


They created a cloud of colours brighter than any

rainbow, pale as sunlight on snow as they trickled

together through the tousled trees. fluttering their 

faerie wings, a kaleidoscope delicately dancing.


They twirled and twisted each filigree frame

as the joy of living flowed through their flickering

frailty and          alighting they softly and gently open 

their wings to the sun of one who gave them life.


We, like them, danced in the glow of a glorious 

garden. We too, like them, thrived in bright beauty 

and blessing. We too, like them, learned how lovely 

and lithe and at peace we were until we took over,






Butterflies in decreasing numbers still flit and fly,

and each as a Cartier in the heart of a caring creator,

but countless creatures, like them, are increasingly 

condemned by us.  Yet, God’s gentle grace in hope,




Crooked Leadership

Accountable? me? Please, don’t be daft,

The sun shines out of my smiley mouth,

my empty eyes twinkle like sparkling stars,

my baffled brain works to shadow my hand.


Why should I be challenged and accused?

Why should you tell me that I am wrong?

When will you understand that I am a

person who is above the law, beyond it,


For I am an honourable man, we are all

honourable men, we have come with 

honour to serve the wealthy, our friends

and to abate the work amongst the rest.

Not the National Health Service

They clip along clinical corridors

and treat the tedious and the tragic,

each one reaching beyond their

limits so that each one has hope.


Enclosing, muffling masks cover 

their sympathetic smiles, then it’s

visors and space suits and visitors

unwelcome, and the space is sanitised.


Theatres meant for healing lie 

   empty, panicking patients at home,

while government ministers give

a twist to the screws that will 


kill it, destroy it, and buy the 

national out of its name, whilst

service is gone from it too, and

it lies broken and bruised and 


will be publicly, privately owned, 

and clinics will return to those 


in destitution, for still a few

brave medics work out of


poverty, kindling purpose ‘n

compassion, understanding

and the graciousness of a 

few, living in debt to live out


their commission to serve

the suffering sick, keeping 

hope for free, while hospitals


in the pockets of the rich.

The Prisoner

The Prisoner

She looks through the bars,

her intelligence

dulled by repetition

of the daily chores

and cheerlessness.

Tears fall

as tortured


of her child

growing without

her loving touch.

A glimpse now and again,

never enough

as someone


charts her child’s

precious years.

Politicians mutter,

What can her family do

against prejudice


and perfidy

like this,

taking a woman from her


from her freedom

and framing her,


destroying the fragile

bond, that holds

body and soul


Lord, that she may be free



What happened to darkness?

Was it where the bogeyman lived,

the dragon under my bed,

the time to touch, to tingle

and enjoy a sweet sexy snog?


Or was it the deep dark where

callous criminals took advantage

and left a small voice crying,

terrified of the call ‘lights out’,

well used by a prowling pervert?


Or was it the night sky

setting the scene for stars,

tiny lights sparkling with joy

a backdrop to guttering flames 

of bonfires and effervescent fizzing

of rockets and Catherine wheels?


Or was it the covering for a

cowering child, a place to

hide from a violent soldier,

safety in the midst of mayhem,

or a place to hide a treat for

a surprise, special celebration?


Or was it the moment waiting

in the dark at midnight when

“Lumen Christi” was called

and the candles flamed and

grew to fill everywhere with

jubilance, joy, hopefulness and peace?


Is it a place for badness

breathed from human hearts,

or of goodness graciously shown?

is it really a place of candle lit

grace or of hateful horror’s?

Your choice!