Cleopatra (Fatale Monstrum)

Fatale monstrum,
his propaganda robbed me of humanity,
they called me whore,
depraved without morality,
yet my only lovers were Caesar, Antony and my country.
They called me ruthless,
yet the nursery taught me politics is a rough trade,
that to wear the double crown,
to sit upon the golden Horus throne required fratricide,
required me to survive.
I was a ruler, mother,
as well as starstruck lover,
Isis returned to the two lands to lead them to glory,
Yet the victor has hidden this story.



Breadline Britain

This poem is inspired by Luciana Berger’s powerful video, Breadline Britain, which shows the reality of food banks in Britain today. If you haven’t seen it already, I recommend you do:

Let’s hope this video spurs action to tackle the poverty and inequality that still blights our society.

Breadline Britain

So this is Britain in 2012,
queueing for a job,
queueing for food at the food banks,
Swallowing pride is easy on an empty stomach.
Trying to skrimp and save but I have to choose to heat or eat.
Looked down on, yet this could happen to anyone.
This is no luxury,
this is a necessity.
They speak of deserving and undeserving poor,
but no-one deserves to be poor.
Great is in our nations name,
yet seeing people struggling at food banks fills me with shame.

The Manifesto

It’s a bit too early to be giving gifts but I thought whilst PCC elections and by-elections are going on around us, I thought it the most suitable time to give to you all my free ebook of politically themed poetry  called ‘The Manifesto’ . I hope you all enjoy.

Special thanks to Andy kinsey (@andykinsey on twitter) for designing the front cover.



Here’s a new poem I did in honour of the great Palace of Westminster, the ‘mother of parliaments.’


Spires, towers of stone, a fortress of thought,

Once a palace for monarchs, a palace it is still,

but feasts are long in the past, now a palace of the people’s will.

Parliament, a place to speak, to debate,

A place to question, for answers seek,

to speak truth to power no matter how great,

To open your ears to your constituents lobby and petition,

To listen,

The solid stone, the portcullis should not insulate.

A paradox,

Unchanging facade concealing constant renewal,

Revolution, evolution.

It’s all so easy to be overcome by these towers that soar,

Before this symbol, this mother of parliaments and stand in awe.

Do not be swayed by the glamour of stone palaces,

Your mouth staying still,

Remember this is a palace of the people’s will.


Poem for Barack

Poem for Barack (2012)

Back in windy city where it began,
Many questioned whether hope still lived,
Whether among depression it remained,
Whether light still shone from the waning flame.
But you did it,
The magician conjured,
Your words still filled with wonder,
Still filled with promise, a dream,
A hope resilient,
A dream still potent,
Yes you could, yes you still can,
You gave back hope again.

“It moves forward because of you. It moves forward because you reaffirmed the spirit that has triumphed over war and depression, the spirit that has lifted this country from the depths of despair to the great heights of hope, the belief that while each of us will pursue our own individual dreams, we are an American family, and we rise or fall together as one nation and as one people.” B.Obama.


Piercing the Veil. 90 years since Tut’s discovery

To commemorate the 90th anniversary of the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb by Howard Carter, I’ve written verse about the thrill of discovery.

Piercing the veil

We shone a light into the tomb,
Piercing the antique veil of gloom,
The candle begins to flicker, flicker, flicker,
Curiosity made our hearts beat quicker, quicker,
At first we saw nothing, nothing,
But then something,
Strange shadows danced upon the walls,
Animals, men silent sentinels of the underworld
then the warm glow of gold,
Everywhere the glint of gold,
In that one second we crossed centuries,
In that one glimpse we entered an ancient world.
We lifted the shroud,
We pierced the veil.