The Ones Out of Place …

Cooling sun lowers it’s

April bulk behind the rooftop horizons.

Light will fade, die;

Clouds shift, shiver, sigh,

Spilled hot blood

Cool, congeal

Then dry.

We are the ones out of step,

The ones out of place, here;

We always were:

The dishonourable thieves,

Society wreckers,

Trouble seekers and

Storm brewers.

How Lucky ?

How lucky have I been ?

– And don’t I need to remind myself, today ? –

Of the times I rocked out loud with the Beast,

The quiet times with the trainer;

Bubbles of blue rock

Up my nose

Like street-cheap champagne …

How we discovered ourselves –

Jesters, peasants and monarchy –

Defined our limits;

Then with riotous intelligence

Destroyed and defied them;

Then when we danced those early

Hurry-up-and-wait times together.


Earth Calling Gort …

It’s never the soldiering
That kills the soldier;
It’s the injustices that
Keep coming back
Because we are only
Casually vigilant.

It’s not the wars
That corrupt childhoods,
Feed sorrow’s pitiful scarecrows
With black rumour;
It’s the barenaked duplicity
Of politicians;
The crowing,
Rapacious greed that
They try, so poorly,
To hide.

photo sorces: top photo: Imperial War Museum, second photo: