Radical

Card-carrying member of

the idealistic and reckless

society of fools.

And I’ll never be happy

until I’ve chased every cause,

burned every flag

and chased every government down.

I’ll sit with fire in my eyes

and I’ll burn down your lies.

And when the bar’s closed I’ll go home.

Fuck

Fuck this shit.

Fuck lack of change.

Fuck pussyfooting around.

Fuck selfishness and greed.

Fuck the people who do nothing to help themselves

but wave their flags as their oppressor rides past.

Fuck dissent without action.

Fuck complacency in the face of genuine crisis.

Fuck amelioration without cure.

Fuck social services, trade unions, welfare states and and community projects.

Fuck violence for it own sake.

Fuck violent language written as catharsis with no results.

Fuck this shit.

New Hampshire

If governing is prose

and campaigning is poetry,

is the opposite also true.

Certainly the convictions required

to write prose have thusfar escaped me.

More than that, I’m not sure I have the patience.

But there’s something thrilling about the transience

of the pithy line, the throwaway idea and the ability to

set a manifesto in a few short lines. I may never be able to

govern, the way that some others can but I’ll always enjoy the

campaign.

Bhutto

Thousands of people beat their heads in grief

as a woman’s body is slowly carried through streets.

Each of them weep and cry out in despair at

a lost life and lost hope.

I watch it all repeated every ten minutes

on a silent television. Details are highlighted

as footage of her last moments are picked over

for scraps of explanation.

There is none to be found here. Blame

is laid at various doors but nothing will reverse

the events of a few hours before when an explosion

tore the heart out of an already broken country.

Bethlehem

Holy places across the world

pause as Christmas day

approaches. Instead of peace

we have bullets and bombs

tearing fragile flesh.

A message of hope was begun

two thousand years ago but this

has been lessened somewhat

by struggles that have

lasted mere decades.

Bullets and bombs

tear fragile flesh

and an apologetic star

shines over Bethlehem tonight.

War on Terror

Yesterday some police stood,

vigilant

around an open,

battered

suitcase

that had sat in the street

for several days.

it was removed by a large inspector,

no doubt summoned from a comfortable chair.

he gruffly admonished his younger colleagues

and bundled the luggage

into his car,

and took it away.

no doubt it will have been

destroyed

in a controlled explosion.

or will contribute to a landfill.

or maybe donated to a

charity shop,

where it will attract rather

less attention.

Asylum

Come all you forgotten people.

Come rest in your new haven.

This is your sanctuary.

Nothing will harm you here.

War will not touch you.

Fear will be forgotten,

like a dream.

Our police are not corrupt here.

Our politicians honest.

Walks down the street will,

Be accompanied by smiles.

Your colour, your faith, your politics.

They do not matter here.

We welcome you with open arms.

No sneers as you board a bus.

No veiled words as you raise your head.

You are welcome here.

You have found asylum.