Budgets Kill

Blue eyes sunk in a worried face,

dim with the ache of hunger,

closing to hide the horror of

cruelty in power and control.


Brown ones too in the faces

of children understanding 

that they are voiceless and

that loving adults voted for


this annihilation, bold policies

that take their food, warmth,

their schools, jobs and hope

and create fat cats, and pigs


that grunt and snuffle in the

decaying detritus of their 

lost lives,  painting with

their blood an enthralling


idyllic picture of a trickling

stream of quickening money 

but block it, subvert it, to sell 

the oppressed for a fevered


obsession with giving money, 

and more money, and misery 

money, for fancy, future jobs 

to their backers and bankers;


who invite them to parties where

the poor are absent, the climate

crisis is chalked over and the

opposition groans and fights


each other, while the despot

in Number 10 has easy days,

creating her queenly kingdom

where only the elite live well. 

Guantanamo Fear or Victims


He hides face in his arms as they grabbed him,

twisting, hurting his already rope burned skin,

innocently he had travelled to aged Afghanistan,

guilty by colour and creed he was violently taken,

not arrested, nor accused like hundreds of others.


Guantanamo Bay, a cruel place of tried and tested

torture criminalising good men,

treating them with contempt 

and evil won the day.


Lives broken, loving men lost to their families

forced to live now in isolation,

their punishment continues,

plagued by secrecy and doubt.


Evil’s at its best when rabid racism enters

the eyes of the kind hearted,

and fearfully trains hearts to a fear

based on the thought police.


Men who would be our friends have been lost,

peaceable lives tragically torn,

and now will justice come? Or,

like the dew or go early away?


He yawns

and suborns.

He snores

breaks the laws.

Watching the world waits and wonders,

will it ever end or will he make them bend

again and again to suit his rules, and calls

them fools, as he laughs and sneers behind

their listening ears. The homeless are in the

gutter because that is his bread and butter. 

The poor queue for philanthropist’s good food 

and that is understood. For, it is up down and

even top down that only works if friends are

paid and money made first, he has such an

unimaginable thirst for power, control and 

aces the questions by absence and controls

the press by pretences and faces no 


The Tithes of Prejudice

They tenderly picked up her body, wonderfully made, brutally murdered,

Her intelligence snuffed out, her wisdom lost, her mothering care gone.

Society wept, crying against the constant bombardment of hate, hate, hate,

spoken through the media social, the radio, the speeches and the street,

as it wielded a gun, killed her, willed her death, for no reason of rationale.


Children growing are taught to loathe, not to think, to despise not to learn,

their minds are instilled with invective, blocking their detective instincts to

ask and probe, to seek and read and find leads that take them further into

a world where there is hope, and to question is honoured, and to examine

the speeches and not be nose led, or gross fed the lies of white supremacy.


Instead they are learned in the lore of ignorance as they close their minds

and buy ropes that bind, buy hats that are signed by bigots and yet even

some will test the waters but find that to step away from such hypocrisy is

to break their family, shake friends and take their status. So, they don’t but

there are those who care, bear the burden of stagnant, Godless thinking.


They march in the streets, carrying pleading placards, their minds fixed 

on changing the reels of those; who have been educated to seal their

brains, with monetary gains, choosing the reign of inflicting pains and 

staining the ground with the blood of innocence.  The protesters struggle

straining to shift the ground, see evil reigned in, turn the widening tide, 

promote healing, heroes out to challenge and claim the humanity of 





They have a dream.

I have a dream, one cried.

to subjugate and sully

the lives of all those 

who are not like me.


I have a dream, two cried.

to bully and bait each and

everyone who cannot be

treated in my equality.


I have a dream, the third said,

to have power and control,

to be like the man at the 

head who takes all he wants.


I have a dream, the fourth said,

to be at the forefront and free

myself from the shackles of

morality and dependancy.


They each tread their dream

on the backs of others and 

ignore the cries of the child

and the downtrodden oppressed.

And they live fearful lives full

of lies and injustice and wars;

bringing unhappiness to their

greedy, opulent, grabbing hearth.


I have a dream, a voice cried,

where no one is less than, and

no one is stepped on and no 

one is abused, no one is bullied,

incited and no one is without.


I have dream, said another,

where each child has a childhood,

they each eat three meals a day,

they are safe and loved and 

become the best they can be.


I have a dream, came quietly,

of a world where no one flees,

no one makes wars or weapons,

everywhere justice and peace 

meet together; and hatred and 

avarice are swallowed by love.


Trodden pathways of hope and

to those seeing the good in all

peace comes to comfort them,

as they seek to listen and learn

then truth will tread their path.

As they join against injustice

mercy will be their measure.

As they reach out hands to

those in trouble – then they will

find that truth, peace and mercy 

will dwell in their hearth.

Deaf to the oppressed.

Are you listening? A lonely voice

echoes off the cliffs of fixed ears

that will only hear if its tune fits.

They called over and over, hoping

in vain for the murmuring of many

distant voices that crowded around,

to tune out nuisance noise; to make 

a dent in the deepening declivity

of intentions over obsessions, 

which crowd out the loudest of

SOS’s and turns them into the

long ago cries that went nowhere.


A shoulder was tapped, and eyes

were turned, to see past the person

and used machinations to avoid

attentions, and where solidly their  

intention was to shield their eyes, and 

close their minds from changing.

Forcing the silenced to grieve. Their 

loss of a voice voiding their existence.

White Supremacy

Its competitiveness that daunts

the faint hearted, bullied into a 

dark place where submission is

heroic and the soul crushed by 

their insistence and persistence 

pushing them further into the 

darkness. Then, white skinned 

see only their own worth and 

break down the barriers of 

investment port folios and 

grab at the next chance to 

show their narrow eyed

prejudices to shore

up their self esteem..

Stealing a Life for Profit

It hurts to see the world as it is,

where the oppressed are bound

and the power abusers succeed.

To feel their hatred for a child

because of birth and colour and

creed, and the dreadful damage

being done to violently vanquish  

good through evil.


The child begs on the street, and

for centuries pleads for coin and

she sells her body for grubby 

notes and loses her sharp sense 

of self, and the ghosts of the past

mingle with the spirits of the

present; showing them the

sheer hopelessness of ever

being better.


The man stoops, old bones

in a young mind. His back

bears the brunt of racism

and hatred gouged into his 

flesh. His once family, now

gone, and he grieves for

the countless children lost; to

vile ideals.


She snatches sleep, while the

proud company sells her life

in garments, made while she

sleepwalks into stick thin 

limbs, that crumble and break

like her spirit, under the weight

of western greed for cheap cat-

walk prosperity.


A once prophetic song, ‘When,

will they ever learn?’ And still

we go around and around with, 

grasping greedy bodies,           reaching

to enslave- to expand their profits,

and subdue dissenting voices,

until their own hearts harden and

souls shrivel.


And is God good? A face, 

diminished by the slaves lash 

and the wrongly accused cross.

He cries out for the oppressed

and the free and – Like a dove, 

hope flies on, and on and one

day, our restless wings and the

white dove, will surely rest

 in the sand.

Fascist Take Over

Muttering behind their fisted hands, 

and murmuring voiced their complaints,

and muted applause for a strangled clause,

that moderates a response while killing goes on.


Burbling streams that wear folk down,

and buttering up the cream of influence,

and bartered appeals that threaten children,

through bargaining that weights the loaded die.


Fractured opposition falls infighting,

failing to see the tyrants’ colluding coup,

and frightened the oppressed are grateful for

fragments  that fall from the tyrants tasty tables.


Imprisoned, passionate prophets cry for lost chances,

indifference feeding fascist lies and cheating, with

promises of rich rewards and contracts to 

shore up their shredding of democracy.