Domestic Abuse

Woman from girl
Carries her plan for life,
This girl
Planned love,
Become a wife.
Whatever dream she had
Of married bliss,
An abusive man
Tore asunder.
She loves still
The dream of union,
Though soon fun
Became despoiled kiss.
Could she run?
Well, the midst of the day
Offered chances anew
To run away.
But love is her life
While her secret is fear,
Her privy desire
To keep him near,
Knows no sense,
Knows not just fear
But courage too.
She knows love, but
Has no will to consider
The end of marriage.
She loves the man
Not the damage he’s done
To her plan for life
And what she’s become,
A battered wife.


forever she

even in their
finest clothes
full of grace
will fail to find
the beauty of your face,
the wind upon your hair
like cherry blossomed breeze,
your smile
like sunlight upon you
it’s warm embrace
raises me, and too
brings wonder
that this you give
by being you.


You wear your shackles well
Your prosperity like cheap perfume
The difference is hard to smell
For a darkened shit-fed mushroom

It’s a fairground three card trick
And the money card is in the middle
But you’ve fallen for Tory shtick
Like accepting the “truth” of a riddle

We’re falling at a different speed
But we’re all falling as prey at their feet
Like wounds that refuse to bleed
They delude you with high flung deceit

You feel like a peacock in plume
But you’re carrion beneath circling skies
A morsel wearing cheap perfume
Neo-chattel marching to your demise.


the ship awaits us all
invitation to another shore
upon the final boarding call
before the dark forevermore
soon the sails will surrender
to the course beneath the veil
we will wave as we remember
the light before the pale
taken by the gentle breeze
we will watch them sail away
’till soon the last of life leaves
in the dusk of their final day


Paranoia pervades where sickness dwells
As dark clouds occluding the moon
Fanatical fear of the government gun
Is where the absurd do commune.

Coming, they’re coming, is the redolent cry
Festooned with the shiny and shrill
Like magpies they gather the manic deranged
In search of a reason to kill.

Wearing their guns like children in play
The rights they vow to defend
Descend from historical pages of yore
For yesterday’s men to depend.

They treat disapproval with dismissive scorn,
The second amendment invoked,
But the right of free speech for every man,
The first amendment? Revoked.

Forget the fallen, the lost young life?
Ignore the obvious truth?
I can’t. I won’t. I will have my say.
For me. For them. For sooth.

Massacre of Cairo

Came the guns, raining down upon
The disaffected free,
And that was that, their denouement,
Who’s next to disagree?
Amongst the dead the children lay
Their politicking done.
The streets were their playground today
Beneath a soldier’s gun.
Serried lines of blood stained shrouds
Grow to fill the eyes
Rude remains of slaughtered crowds
Freedom’s sad demise.


Like candle flames lost upon a savage gust
Children of Peshawar lost to ungodly bloodlust,
Lost by the rattling flame of clattering guns.
Lost to parents grieving daughters and sons,
The school hallways became their killing grounds
Echoing to mass murder and its terrifying sounds.
They invoke Islamic faith like a martyrdom junkie
How holy can a child killer with a loaded gun be?
No gods, no prophets, no justification for killing,
Just the evil that men do: a coalition of the willing.
The children of Peshawar, slaughtered for nothing
Tit for tat, no more than that. Terrorism’s plaything.