Britain August 2022

Like sheep to the slaughter we voted them in,

like donkeys we slave away at their despotic will,

like a cat amongst pigeons they pursue and push

at our connections, destroying our community

but, like automatons they tread on unfeeling.


Like a lion they prowl and devour their prey,

chewing the last juicy money from their 

thin, worn pockets and adding it to their fine

warm, bulging bank accounts, watching as life

burns, burying their conscience beneath cash.


She is like a wraith as she looks at the shops,

willing the meagre sum in her purse to stretch,

willing the prices lower and the hunger, stamped

on her child’s face by politicians, to give way to

a happy, healthy smile that lights up the eyes.


Still they chew her coins as they claim expenses,

eating away at the tax payers purses and praying

no one will notice their shameless, shambolic

posturing. Like rats fleeing the sinking ship they 

sail away; steering the wreck from Tory havens.

Cruelty in Politics

The knives are out and the dissection started,

Each knowing and set their direction signalled..

Tax cuts or higher tax to quell the over wealthy

as they lean in and offer or finger their purses.

Each one turning the tory vice on their victims:

a family, school children, refugees and workers,

the struggling overwhelmed by rising prices and

now the neglected climate heats oppresses so.


Meddlesome politicians, manipulating tories,

baking the populace while they turn their backs,

letting strings be pulled by influencing hacks, who

push the line that all is fine when many will die,

because experts are marginalised and lies 

carpet the halls where ignorance is encouraged

as long as the money is kept going into  their off

shore accounts and the founts of wisdom dry up.


They laugh at us while babies and children die,

and the power of a few is consider wisdom,

and its wielded incoherently, and the many

have yet to ‘awaken the dawn’ and become 

a force for change and a flaming torch for

justice, equality, the common good and a

wonderful welcome for wanderers on the shore.


They come to our shores desperate, fleeing 

terrible things only to be sent away to an

evil regime that rules by terror and so they

travel worn, war torn, cry in their pillows 

where there are no rights. but another 

Tory ally who sheds blood, greedily rakes

in the cash and buys shameful sorrows.


Stand up, do not fear for we are of saving

the lives and opposing those who shackles 

the prisoner rather than freeing them from 

a despot’s chains. who blinds the seeing 

with blatant untruths and deafens the hearing 

with insistent noise, with words without meaning, 

sounds that continually violate hoping we will

grow numb, turn away and crave inaction.

The Refugee’s Journey in Darkness

The darkness overwhelmed her and within its womb

her hurts were hidden and her tears could fall like rain

and the storm of running, hiding, and protecting her

children was for a moment abating and creating a place,

a space for rest and respite, hugs and holding tight.

The smell of burned homes and grenades bursting

still soaked their clothes and strong in her nostrils.

Sights and sounds that will stir their vivid dreams.


The guns were distant and the drones silent in the star

lighted sky, exhausted her eyes closed and the drag

of sleep overcame her but a rustle in the bushes and

she was awake, alert and her anxiety rose as she lay.

No other sound and so she let her heavy eyes droop

and her head rest on the emaciated bone hardness of 

her daughter, and woke as the light began to show

bringing colour to the shrubs and trees around them.


Slowly they arose and she gave them water, bread 

and the strength to walk on through the thickening

trees. Pausing here, and there to watch and hear if

death drones followed. And so they crept on silently.

In the susurrous rustling of leaves they saw the hut.

A man took her cash, watch, phone and promised

a safe journey. The hungry, wasting children were

quiet on the boat and hastened to travel as advised.


They had not eaten, nor had clean water and yet

hopefully setting off they joyfully arrived at the

shore of the English Channel.  The boat was thin

and crowded but sailing towards her mother and

there were her cousins too, gave her good spirits.

Cold, Hungry after travelling  a thousand miles

they arrive. Firmly they are shushed and ushered,

into locked rooms, questioned, cruelly separated.


The children dragged away from her screaming.

She’s interrogated with her heart breaking. ‘I’m

back fighting for my life,  my girls, my son,’

she thought. No welcome, no warmth, only 

questions and coldness.  As the darkness of tory

party prejudice destroyed her hopes it seemed

to her that the killer, diving drones 

would have been 


A Fascist Symphony

Emboldened by the brazen bigotry of his bearing,

he betrayed the people who gave him his power,

a democracy broken by a peering, prying, lying

leader and furthering his feathering by freely

paving a patterned pathway in bribes and scandal.


Helpless  we watch and wearily we retweet or 

write to those who should be able to help, but

their hands are tied by a shocking symphony

of singing sycophants and silently those who

could form an opposition foolishly hum along


to a tune played on strings made from the gut of

the poor and a wonderful woman, who sought to

help her son thrive, starved, silent, while the beats

of the drums called her illegal and filled her with 

the cacophony of self interest and a cruel crescendo


of hatred, and still the few make rules for the many

and instil racism and misogyny, mistaking money

for policy, and loosing upon the children of humble,

heartwarming folk, fighting for a far fairer force,

the fascist salute of idolatry and the evil of eugenics.