Vanity

A king went swimming in his crown.
Not being a merman,
He drowned.

***

***

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It’s A Hard Life

Photo by Moose Photos on Pexels.com

No internet –
my worst day yet.

***

***

Christmas Eve With Dad

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He lived and loved, laughed,
then sighed. He held my hand. He
held my hand. He died.

Peterloo, 1819

We came in peace.
We left in pieces.

***

Today is the 203rd anniversary of the Peterloo Massacre of 1819. It is a shameful episode in the fight for British democracy. You can read more about it here.

Holey Man

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Spikes in his hands
Skewer in his feet
Spear in his side

The job’s complete

***

You’ll find this and other poems in the free download of my collection, Wholly Man. Click the link.

Dick Turpin’s End

Died 7 April 1739

Stand and deliver!
Your life or your purse!

Sent for a hanging;
returned in a hearse.

A Very Locked Down Christmas

No parties
No mixing
No deathbeds
It’s vexing
How we citizens
Obeyed the rules
While government laughed
At we dutiful fools

***

Parties at No. Ten while people were denied visits to their dying loved ones.
While thousands spent Christmas and more alone.
While we all obeyed the rules this government set, for the greater good.

This government sickens me.

Write About Dead Avengers

Write about dead avengers?
Jack Ruby springs to mind.
He shot a man who shot a man.
I guess they’re two of a kind.

***

On this day in 1963: Jack Ruby killed Lee Harvey Oswald, who killed President John F. Kennedy. And Dallas policeman J. D. Tippit. That last death is never mentioned, is it? I discovered it by accident when I Googled Jack Ruby.

The title came from a writing prompt.

Fifty Years On

LHO
made you pay
for doing things your way.
One Shot. Two shots. A third went astray.
Brain spray. Bad day.
RIP, JFK.

***

This poem was written 22/11/2013, hence the title.

206 Coffins

Written in 2009 after a news report on the total number of casualties in the latest war

*

Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.
War dead. More dead. Your dead.

*

*

First published in Pendle War Poetry Competition Anthology: Selected Poems 2018, United Kingdom and Ireland, Posh Up North Publishing, ed. Paul Breeze (2018)

#LestWeForget