The powers that be

Wouldn’t it be nice if you could give someone your name?

Without them going: just tell me your number, tis all the same.

Perhaps it’s a reach to have it forcefully tattooed on my forearm

While they all seem oblivious to all the harm

They do to those they’re supposed to nourish

And when challenged, they shout boorish:

‘Wir haben es nicht gewusst.’


Perhaps it’s seen as crass to compare their corrupt company

To the group of people responsible for the worst crime in history

Maybe a better comparison within this quip

Us, rowing to a drum, aboard their giant ship

Although many within her teach enlightenment and tolerance

Their words fall on deaf-ears among the apathetic audience.

Complicity envelops all those drawn in.


All the young ones staring at their phones are too busy to notice

They’re ransoming their futures for three island years eating lotus

Thrown back into the world with just a piece of paper and a lot of debt

Working it off to gain crucial experience through blood and sweat.

Finally grasping the futility and abuse of their chosen path,

Hopefully leveling the thing I would now: Wrath!

The common advice: just keep your head down and make nice…


Where is our generation’s Mr. Zimmerman

Whom, by writing, takes a stand

And rips us from complacency, makes us understand:

‘Come mothers and fathers throughout all the land,

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand,

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command’

And they’re all going to stop buying into your brand.

Pride – For Matty –

I don’t mean the one about equality with the flag of rainbow,

Although applicable, this is simply about a guy I know.

A man of many words and fantastic appetites,

But it’s his character that really highlights


Not just the title of this poem but

The reason for my respect in this lovable nut


He always says he loves the crazy ones because

The normals just bore and all seem hazy,

In his tremendous heart and bravery

Which also makes his dark side so unsavory


The one enemy he must fight day and night

His own treacherous and marvelous mind


One filled with strange thoughts and dark corners

Even a string of fantasy and disorders.

With all that, he’s still capable of great empathy,

A lending hand to friends and even me


Keeps an entire family together even when perhaps

He himself is on the verge of collapse.


So I vow to be there to remind:

When that terrible battle with your mind

Seems just too much, remember:


The ones taken from us, too soon and crappy

Wherever they might be, I’m sure they see

What I do when I look at you:



Although writing words is what I do

I do sometimes feel like such a fool

Writing words is fine and all

Just letters on a page they seem so small

And I know all writers words have to be read

Aloud to a crowd or in your head

But of the two, aloud is the one that I would do

For words, when spoken aloud are wonderful

Then they seems so powerful, with pitch and cadence and rythmatic

They tumble off the page to become: music

And music touches us in ways we find so dear

Somewhere in the soul or somewhere here

For huddled masses, sharing a dream, just waiting

Or those last words uttered, crying about the road not taken

Aurotory should inspire and touch us, bring us to our feet

Auplauding not because we have to but because of a need

The need to praise or march or remember

Those words spoken out loud in love or anger

They can make us feel, they can make us think

By them we’re brought right to the brink only to realise its jut a man

Just one man, a little silly, shouting words that are so pretty

So I’ll just keep writing to do my bit, to do what I can

And through all the illusions, hope, fear and dread

One thought wills out: Let these words be read!

G.E. Piano

Inspired by George Elliot’s Piano in The Herbert Gallery, Coventry.


Sitting at a grand piano

At a loss for words

When tones are what you write with

All you have are cords


Fingers fluttering over faded keys

Silently thanking the sons of John

A soft tinkling instead of the harsh click

Made by me and descendants of Remington


As music has been kept from me

I’ll strike a different key

Maybe making paper sing

Is all I’ll ever need


Perhaps there is a middle march

Just do both, I know some can

Writing notes and words alike

Just like dear Mary Anne



Shooting US-CT

27 people 18 of them not even ready

unready is a word describing all of them

even those who understood the mind

or those who ruled unruly kids

would not be safe

those who lost their lives will be

for ever and ever safe

with us

and those who could not fight a cold

would fight this appalling  act

those who understand the wrong

are always few

but all of us should know

this is something no one, should even be allowed to do.





Dressed in butterflies never alone

But always fluttering

Colors everywhere and offers more

A flowers heart


Seeming frozen but never stays

Forever uncatchable

Loving sunlight while dancing

As moonlight caresses


Stars spangled in her glittering eyes

With eyes on her wings

But as her dress; just touch her once

Forever grounded.




And in our dreams when we were young

We danced around and songs were sung

But now we’re old and far away

But thankfully the feelings stay

With us


For on that dreary winters day

We gathered round where we lay

And promised that we’d never say



Although we went our separate way

And went them well but never stray

From what we vowed, we’ll never say:



But sadly now the time has come

To figure out what must be done

How to move on alone from now

And yet never to break the vow

We made


Even if we travel far and wide

Never forget the joy and pride

Left waiting in that place for you

Where we lay and where we drew

Our deal


Because our bond is never lost

No matter the distance or the cost

We shall be what we were since then