Mother's Day

Mother’s Day

Andrea; being a wife and mother,

Doesn’t make you any less sinister,

Nor give you favour over another

In your bid to become prime minister.

In your eyes I see cold severity,

Indeed, I see it in your colleagues’ too;

The hardship and pain of austerity,

I ascribe to them as well as to you.

On this day of mothers’ celebration,

I wish to convey to those who may care

That many poor mothers of our nation

Have, by your party, suffered much despair,

And all mothers surely must see the guile

And the machinations behind your smile.

Jehovah

Jehovah

At the dump, around a bonfire, we sat,

Listening to music, until the police came,

Then left us to our speed-fuelled chat;

The music turned off by him-of-no-name.

Unnoticed by me, it was getting light;

And He-of-no-name was suddenly;

Standing in front of you, poised for a fight,

And pointing to the sun aggressively.

And as he ranted and shouted at you

I tried to imagine the row’s beginning;

What did you say to him? What did you do?

Why did he want to send your “Head spinning”?

Evidently, he felt the need to declare

To everyone else, (so it seemed to me)

That “Everything comes from that up there”,

As if he’d just had an epiphany.

But it was to you alone that he said,

(And it must have hurt like a cut with a knife)

After he’d threatened to kick in your head;

“Get out there; make something of your life!”

Some of us grinned at your humiliation

But not me, though I said and did nothing;

Being then a kid in that situation;

I was much younger, and he wasn’t bluffing.

I thought of you then as a wary soul;

A scared deer before a hunter’s gun,

And he put me in mind of a bullying troll,

As he said, “Get to know it”, meaning the sun.

I’d like to say I offered you compassion

But I merely stared as you walked away.

The party carried on after a fashion,

Albeit the night then turning to day.

All this happened nearly forty years ago;

I’ve since seen it posted that you’re now dead;

A photograph with comments below;

You were well loved and popular they said.

I remember you as a sensitive man

With an open face (like the photograph),

A reader of classics, a Rolling Stones fan,

An extrovert, with an infectious laugh.

How did his actions affect you that night?

Did you strive in vain to leave it behind?

Did the anguish remain, try as you might,

To erase its stain from the back of your mind?

For you were sensitive, as already stated;

An easy target for a bully to hit,

And harsh words can be highly elevated;

Many a conflict starts with bullshit.

As for him-of-no-name; he found the lord,

And became religious apparently.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses struck a chord

With him (although not with his family).

I wonder if he felt the urge to repent

Upon finding out that you’d passed away

Did he realise the extent of the torment

That you surely felt on that long ago day?

In my mind’s eye, he’s always the bully,

Unmindful of what he put you through.

And if I now know the sun more fully,

It’s not because he, long ago, told me to.

The birds

The birds

Since an active nest, as the law decrees,

Can’t be wrecked by a builder investing,

Building companies put nets over trees

And hedgerows to prevent birds from nesting.

For lawfully, if there’s no active nest,

Or birds aren’t trapped or hurt in other ways,

Trees can be felled without fear of arrest,

Hence the Home Builders Federation says,

That, in compliance with planning consent,

The netting aligns with the relevant

Requirements (needs?) of the environment

And felled trees are subject to replacement.

Still the birds continue to disappear;

Declining in numbers year upon year.

The special place

The special place.

An old man died and much to his surprise,

Found himself in front of a judgement chair

In which, before his disbelieving eyes,

Sat Jesus, who, with a warmhearted stare,

Uttered; “The day of reckoning is here;

I can see you’ve lived your life with great care;

Your good deeds, putting the bad in the rear,

Should've cast you up, rather than down there.

But unfortunately you’ve failed the test;

One that otherwise was passed easily;

The keys to eternal heavenly rest,

Were lost to you when you quite recklessly

Voted, “No deal”. Now, as Donald Tusk said,

A “Special place in Hell” is yours instead”.

Civil war

Current times aren’t uniquely dramatic;

Look to the epoch; Sixteen forty two,

Which, being every bit as democratic,

As the one we’re presently living through,

Bears comparison to these troubled days.

Now, as it was back then, our country’s split

And we’re entering a dangerous phase;

All the intense anger due to Brexit,

Is on a par with that time of discord,

When siblings, neighbours and friends fought and killed

Each other with axe, musket, pike and sword;

Debates hence settled on the battlefield.

Leavers and Remainers, we’re much the same;

Roundheads and Cavaliers in all but name.

The concerns may be labelled project fear

But the real concern hasn’t’ started yet;

Be wary of when things suddenly veer

Beyond the confines of the internet.

All the insults typed and sent to-and-fro

Between remainers and leavers alike,

Could be but a prologue to the main show;

The verbal before the physical strike.

If a few demonstrate aggressively,

Violence unleashed may possibly spread,

Gathering pace, till eventually

The streets are littered with injured (or dead?).

Mockers can scoff, but it’s happened before;

England’s already had one civil war.

Christchurch

Christchurch

Jacinda Ardern set a precedent

When she announced she would never utter

The name of the “Terrorist” defendant  

(Labelled by others, a far right nutter)

Who, for the cause of “White supremacy”

Or some other fucked-up twisted world view,

Killed worshippers indiscriminately

And streamed it on social media too!

All of the dead men, women and children

(Mucad Ibrahim was just three years old),

Are from this day our friends and our brethren.

As for the killer; his motives are cold;
Forget about that worthless enemy; 

Remember instead, Haji Daoud Nabi.

Infinity

Infinity

If you were clasping a fistful of sand

And one year of life was offered to you,

Converted from each grain held in your hand,

How many years do you think you’d accrue?

Now imagine that each converted year

Is filled with unimaginable joy

Devoid of sadness, suffering and fear,

The time being yours to build or destroy.

Would you trade your short life of hit-and-miss

And doubtful heavenly eternity

For a million years of joyful bliss,

Before death, and then Hell’s dread certainty;

Its promise an endless desert of pain,

And all of time’s years’ worth less than one grain?

Prejudice (a reflection)

Prejudice (a reflection)

Never commit to those who call you weak

For hesitating and not choosing sides,

Or for seeming to turn the other cheek,

While an accuser aggressively chides

And pricks your pride with sharp accusations

Of weakness, faintness or cowardice.

Mull over truth, lies and reputations.

Reflect on the nature of prejudice,

Different opinions, right and wrong;

Paths leading to virtue or villainy;

How those perceived weak, by those perceived strong,

Are crushed and tormented by tyranny,

And then, upon consideration; choose:

Tyrants are aided by those who refuse.