War in Winter

Grief digs deeper when the winter months mutter war,

the loss of place, of purposeful peace and the gross

destruction of homes, humans and even habitats of tiny 

beings that have sought warmth under the frozen crust.


It’s a bloody burden that they carry on breaking backs,

as they see bursting bombs of greed and intolerance

smashing into smithereens years of toil and travail,

silencing the calls of battered birds and coy children.


We watch and groan and tearfully pray for mitigation,

to live again and not counting the cost of glorified guns,

weaponry unleashed on the fragile world already over

heated as war fuels harm to frail, failing ecosystems;


as they struggle against rising seas, warming of water

and of land, creating a damaging tide that cannot be

turned. Wearily we watch our toothless, Russian aided,

corrupt leaders sanction in word but not in action.


Avaricious armies advance taking away more acreage,

and Hitler hungry thinks to have all Europe in their

sights as they wave and wield weapons in the faces

of  the weak and wounded. A coward starts a war.


To take words and hear them is a core act of courage,

The brave are willing to alter their minds if certain;

but the craven will resort to violence to cover their

own frailty and persist against sense and humanity.


They’re usually far from the battle lines and lie low,

guarded and victualled well. Too, I want to crawl

away into a niche from the news and the blaming 

game but we shall stay struggling at the margins.


Let us stand together and link our arms for peace,

to raise our voices, tweet and write and sign every

petition that a lonely suffering nation might know 

their traumatic terrors are not yours or mine but ours.

My Valentine

The snowdrops split the Earth and bravely shone against the wintry grey. 

Hiding below where the secret darkness of the soil gives life,

two fruits gradually split and new birth begins. 

Separately they grew entwining the bare branches of the beleaguered hawthorn 

ruled by frost and snow, hail and gales. 

But still they grew on opposing sides of the same bulwark, 

building alone strengthening against spring showers until 

burgeoning  in May. 

Still growing tall they meet in the tangled heart of the graceful bush 

and there kissed. 

           And then entwining together 

their flowers unfurled and the dusky pink petals shone brightly amidst fresh green leaves, brightening in this season. 

Spreading and sprawling they murmured and

With the growing warm summer breeze, humming bees flirted with their pollen laden flowers. 

Grasping each other tightly they stood against the wind storms of early summer, rejoicing  when one by one the fruit emerged green and growing,  

seed hearted with new love, 

And together seeking further staying enmeshed in each other’s arms 

when new branches of the Blackberry came and lurking tried to divide, snarl and spoil, encroaching upon their liberty and freedom but together stronger they held tightly, 

snuggly fitting their strengthened stems 

And as the summer Sun is called and the autumn leaves fall,  

slowly  the Wild Rose loosens ripened fruits that will slip into the dark through gold leafed branches.  

There, felled by roaring wind, in silence they pass through the waves of frosts and incoming winds of winter. 

Time holds us like a vital vice, til, letting go we enter into sleep, 

a quiet time away, and rest from our labours. 

There in the garden are the quiet hopes. 

Year on year out the rose flowers blossom, their leaves grow and petals form blush pink. Love surpasses the seasons and though, my love, we die, our love grows again 

into another generation. 

I’m forever yours my Valentine. 

Leading by Manipulation

Hear, hear, grew the charge

and so the slow lethargic loyal men 

and women wove the web around his feet,

tripping and ripping his riposte. 

Whipping them were those

now nervously, previously deviously devising

each broken rule, wearing blue to hearten him,

smelling the welling of the telling of truths, they

writhe and slithily slip to the shadows. 


There, they smile and bluster, while others

suited and groomed, smile and play

the waiting press and the BBC looks on, wondering who will direct their thoughts,

while, Maxwell lingers on his crossed fingers.

We have all been played,

We have all been betrayed,

We are all being wickedly made

to pay rising prices, repay government assists,

cloaking the cost of papering over the cracks,

wasted PPE billions, as ever with Tories