Kepler 452b 

A whole new world – Kepler452b 
Scientists announced today,

The discovery of another Earth,

A whole new world 

In the depths of space light years away.

Do the fish and the whales swim free,

In the distant seas of Kepler 452b?

If there ever was any life on Kepler 452b,

Did they cherish forests of thousands of trees?

If we traversed the stars to Kepler 452b,

Would we destroy or conserve what we came to see?

Would those days numbering 385 or more,

Be lived in peace or unending war?

Pygmalion politics

Pygmalion politicians
Day by day,

Fashioned from clay.

We mould them,

Too harsh on welfare

Too soft on immigration.

Too harsh too soft,

Too harsh too soft.

We distrust grand speeches of passionate fire,

so we opt for play it safe politicians 

that don’t inspire.

Our discourse moulds the clay wet

It’s Pygmalion politics

This is what we get.


New poem ‘Srebrenica’ on the 20th anniversary of the massacre.

is a tale we tell,
Of the depths to which Europe fell.

where neighbours once lived side by side,
Committed bloody genocide.

Slaughter in a ‘safe place’
A mark of blood and disgrace.

Remains a fork in the road.
Do we have the courage to tolerate
to ensure it

The Iconoclast

The Iconoclast

‘Clink clink,’ the sound of chisels against stone echoed. Scratching out finely carved eyes, disfiguring noses and mouths.

Every last image, the commander ordered. Every last image needs to be destroyed. Some were more brutally destroyed than others- gunned down in a hail of bullets, blown to pieces by explosives. Their robust forms obliterated.

Only the hallowed Celestial Lion remained. The lion, like the ancient ruins that surrounded it, dated from the dawn of civilisation itself. Towering over the landscape, it’s colossal form had given it a legendary status. Once worshipped in an ancient sun cult, then feared as the Father of Fear, to now be revered as a symbol of mankind’s artistic and engineering prowess.

The lion and the vast temple it guarded had withstood earthquakes and wave after wave of bloody invasions. Yet it survived. It’s wide eyes continually staring out, watching all.

Then they arose. The civil war saw a multitude of factions arising from the desert sands, ripping the nation apart. The Iconoclasts, the idol breakers, spread like wildfire from town to town, killing those who stood in the way of ‘purifying the land.’

Not just content to wage war on their own countrymen and the rest of the world, not just content with waging war on modernity, they seek to also wage war on the past. They’ve ransacked museums, put statues on trial for idolatry and sentenced them to death by decapitation.

Their quest to purify a heretical land, their trail of destruction has lead them here, to the paws of the great Lion.

‘The commandment tells us there should be no graven idols’ he thought as he climbed the ladder chisel in hand. He, the charismatic young warlord who commanded this seemingly invincible army, had the power to rewrite history with this one act.

As he climbed and gazed upwards, he was struck by a curious mixture of awe and nostalgia. He remembered his mother taking to see this wonder long ago. He remembered how this one statue had the power to unite many different peoples together. Was this idolatry?

His faltering hand shook as his chisel got closer to the face.