We don’t know any more
where our lives belong
or even where to hide.
The walls of home
hold nothing up
and the door hangs slack
on the hinge.
Where have our lives gone ?
I consult the… Continue reading The Flotsam of Frantic Dreams
Let’s recall the film “High Noon,” that great Western. The outlaw and his hoodlum cronies are riding into town. They want revenge on the sheriff, the keeper of the law. The sheriff scours the town looking for support, a posse of townspeople who will help him defend their community from the outlaws. The townspeople know… Continue reading High Noon this Easter
The “Rough Beast” is a phrase from “The Second Coming” by YB Yeats. Written in 1919, it is a poem that becomes more topical with each passing day.
The last three lines of the poem above are a deliberate reference… Continue reading The Rule of the Rough Beast
I run a charity called “Hyphen-21”. This in turn holds and manages funding for a project called “Poems for…” Since it began in 1997, “Poems for…” has been funded by the UK Arts Council, the NHS, the John Lewis Partnership, the Mayor of London, the Baring Foundation and the Foreign Office, among others.
The… Continue reading Rome Burning
I come in fear. The wheels, the stuttering engine,
By road or wave; the endless killing payments.
Bit by bit, my mind returns to rubble.
You come in fear. The hunched back, failed bravado,
They make me squirm. You have no place here, brother;
Get back, for you… Continue reading BALLAD OF REFUGE by David Punter
and its fulfillment
on someone’s grave.
Because the insult was grave,
I must repay hatred with hatred,
abandon all pleasure: the dancing,
the flirting, the wallowing wantings
of every day. How drab their fulfillment
when… Continue reading HATRED : A SESTINA by Robert Friend
Justin C McIntosh has given his permission for his photograph above to be used for the cover of a long Turkish poem by Cahit Koytak, now published as a book with an English translation alongside. I am proud to have been one of the translators… Continue reading Despatches to my Gazan Son
What is God, after all ?
If maggots in a dead dog
be but God kissing carrion,
what then is not God ?
And when the war began
it seemed that the poles
of the universe were cracking
and the whole
must go… Continue reading Shavings from The Rainbow