Is life real?

I feel as though the horror and violence 

waging wars around make no sense.


How can we believe its right today

to hurt a child or blast them away?


Where is the sense or rationale?

It’s archaic, cruel, a foul bad tale.


Is there a place where children play?

A timeless point, a safe place I pray.

Kneeling I cry to a God of sad sorrow,

who lost a son and wept for tomorrow

when love ascends and vile hate dies,

and the humble are the ones to prize.


Somewhere, surely, there’s another room,

so close like a wee babe curled in a womb.


A home of peace and loving sanctuary,

a place that’s real with no adversary.

The Cult of War

Tarnished shells of tragedy and sorrow,

burnt out buildings and long snout guns,

stand against the hideousness of violence

and the cult of war.


Children flung from cowering to funerals,

parents arms empty, people without homes,

empty plates and emptier eyes hollowed by pain,

and the cult of war.


Trampled plants and the trembling of animals,

creatures of the day and night,  dying in agony,

maggots alone have food in plenty through killing

and the cult of war.


Armed forces die, anti tank devices flame,

leadership,  safe in their homes, order them on,

a Covid invasion, a created virus of human intent

for the cult of war.


Offshore accounts heartier, affluence hastening,

weapons manufacturing, wealth to make,

eyes blind to the savagery, the lives they take

for the cult of war. 

God is listening!

It chilled my soul,

cos I could see their goal,

dominating women,

and then,

push them into dark corners

make their lives more onerous

beat them black and blue

tell them what to do,

while they gloat and glower

and boasting of their power

boiling their own souls.


It chilled my soul,

cos I saw the ugly foul

staining and spreading

when a man a child weds.

I am lost for words, as their

evil beds

are places for children’s terror,

violation and horror.

It chills me still when I stop and think

of the millions of girls on the brink

of all the good that God has given them

to find it stolen by a knife

by women, by life,

by their family,

to grimly  live with the hurt,

to satisfy the lust of a pervert.


Yet, good men suffer too,

as they stand up against you,

as they feel your shame,

and call out your name,

place the blame,

of your monstrous sinning,

knowing that God is hearing

to the weeping of girls and women.

The Barn Owl

Motionless but for a revolving head, waiting 

palely, a faint outline in the brooding darkness suddenly rends the air with a psycho scream, 

penetrating, threatening.  

  A ghostly flight as it sweeps the ground

waiting silently, a sentinel of the dying light,

seeking the future through scampering feet,

blood for a scavenger’s brood. 

White against the starlit sky she prowls,

listening and arguing her rights to voles and creatures scuttling through shifting grass,

leaving her organic waste. 

Perched in the rafters of the blacknight barn,

searching eyes for a mouse,  farm fresh food,

feeling the affinity with hard pressed farmers

she bides, a spirit of grace. 

Harmony of flight and a soul of lost moments,

she lifts her wings in prayer to a quiet God 

and eyes shut, roosts in the crumbling tower of

a once watching church.

New Year

Gnarled, growling, gasping for your breath,

New Year grabs us and startles the earth,

no one is missed, none escape

the strength of a new beginning’s traipse

over the grotty, grim crimes of the states.


Bargaining, brainstorming the distant hope,

time harries the stricken, strains their rope

swinging over the murky waters of deprivation,

while governments meander through

taking what they want as their due.


Battling the beleaguered margins look for change,

Everyone desperate for more, in a time that will range

itself against wisdom, finding a weary God

crying in the wilderness for love to motivate

the powerful to listen to the spirit, open a gate,

greet the New Year listen, negotiate, soar to the heights-

aspiring to strengthen justice and human rights,

care for the disadvantaged and lighten the plights

of refugees, workers, and those who nurse nights,

narrowing the divide, bringing equity, undo the blights

and give us back



Happy New Year to you all.
Blwyddyn Newydd Dda

Christmas Lights

He stood, stark against the bomb blasted, bleak land,

His heart bearing pain, sorrow and blight of a child’s light,

Abused, beaten, trafficked, abandoned,

Helpless as the baby he became. 

Tears running down his beard, from his beleaguered soul,

seeing broken bone weary, loss battered women

Oppressed, violated, imprisoned 

Faceless as the babe he became. 

He gasps at the slaves striped and bowed near to death,

at the evil promoting their ownership, racism and violence,

lashed, starved, brutalised

homeless as the babe he became. 

Wringing his hands he cringes at the cold killing if creation;

as beautiful trees become barren stumps and creatures

Frantic, scuttling, suffering

voiceless as the babe he became. 

Weeping he walked the way of pain to offer a narrow path,

where children safely play, women and men equal and free,

nature loved and nurtured raise their voices 

in joy for the babe of Bethlehem who lights our choices






Happy Christmas and more good light and better choices in 2023

The Evils of the Love of Money

The greasy oil barons and the greedy gas companies

making dirty electricity that’s priced beyond reach.

Like a sucking leech on the poor: they drain them

of their last coins to maintain hidden pots of gold,

and like beady eyed predators they watch and grin

then spend their ill gained lolly on another new sin.

Children Deserve The Best!

I fear to look at the little ones who’ll die,

I fear to look on their faces blue with cold,

I fear to look on the little ones who are sick,

I fear to look at the faces of those who had

the mightiness to stop little ones suffering so


Five course dinners while others starve?

Warmth enough for shirt sleeve working?

No fear of the coming cold?

Private health care? No waiting list for them.

The queuing sick dying from want of a nurse.


Where is the hope if we rely on humans?

Where in them are the thoughts of grace?

Where in them a heart to overturn poverty?

Their eyes are blinded by the lust of power

and deaf ears stopped by voices of greed.


Christmas comes coldly, costing this year,

still carols play their cheery, bardic magic of

blessings of a God who walked our way of

oppression, betrayal, poverty, aggression.

And then Denies the power of corruption,


to show death has no dominion. Fury turns

to murder and buries him like a mustard seed,

amongst their thistles and rocks of cruelty.

Jesus thrusts from the earth like a loving tree

forming a safe haven for a threatened creation.


Why? like those who nailed him to a tree 

do we deprive ourselves, turn from goodness

making self destruction a law for our land?

Why can we not look at the face of a child

and cry, ‘Let us believe in them, give the best: 

Make Safety, Health and Love our quest.’

A Moment in Time

I stood and stared, the road silent for once,

listening to the thumping beat of the waves 

on the harried shore, and the call of the wind

whispered in my ear of wet weather to come,

the rustle in the bushes of small birds startled

by jackdaws rough calling, charging passed.


I stayed watching, and listening, hearing a song

burbling from the branches of a wintered tree,

then, chattering of human voices and the wren,

slipped swiftly through twisted, tethered branches,

leaving me to my awesome wonder – that a tiny 

feathered friend would share their lyrical call,


with humans and the hurrying oblivious folk

travelling through the outstanding countryside,

populated by creatures, seen and unseen, 

working together with nature and singing their

tiny hearts out as the plastic, litter and tramp

of the feet of people talk to enjoy the view and 


for their troubles fail to hear the tiny wren,

or finches as they chatter and spread their

Gold and crimson, and charm those who 

choose to stay their journey, and silently

wait for the cheery cry of the chough calling

in the wind and the lament of the buzzard.


Turning I saw the dark clouds drifting across

the blue, green landscape and suddenly they

split and through the darkness spread the golden

rays of a setting sun.       And for a moment the 

glowing clouds cupped the molten gold like A

loving Chalice offering light in the 



Forest Bathing

Look up! Look up! and see the dull glimmer of stars

as light travels steadily for millions of our earth years,

to be swallowed up by the mirky polluted earth skies,

finally the mystery of their lives is visible to our eyes.


Take time! Watch the golden, moon lit stratosphere,

or the pounding waves covered as if by molten gold,

or the golden leaves greyed as evening comes now

fairy flying leaves as the wind lashed branches flow.