Among the stones,
I gaze at the past,
Contemplating the future.
How long the darkness will last,
On the darkest day,
The sun finally rises.
A human has the right to live,
The right to love and be loved in return,
The right to grow,
the right to learn.
A human has the right to be safe
live free from fear
The right to live
without flows of tears.
Your rights are their rights,
you deny yours and mine.
Rights are rights ,
be it in the remains of a bombed city,
A refugee camp
Or the streets of Britain.
Despite what they tell you,
Despite those harsh tests they impose on you,
Where they measure you,
Unfairly compare you.
With fronted adverbials
Rough worded questions designed to trick you
They demoralise you.
Your creativity is all that matters to me.
An education policy with the intention of turning back the clock, reinforcing, not breaking down a socially divided nation.
Welcome dear students
To grammar school,
For you my chaps who are born to rule.
A return to the good old days,
Mortarboards and school ties,
Perfecting the sneers from privileged eyes.
We can afford the extra tuition,
For admission based on examination.
to conserve, to preserve,
Our selective social position.
Latin mottos, a password,
To running this divided nation.
My lesson plans,
Don’t select based on background,
Do not deny opportunity.
A verb is a verb, a noun is a noun,
Whether you can pass an entrance exam or not,
It matters not.
In my classroom you can aspire,
To a future you can choose,
A verb is a verb, a noun is a noun.
Why should I be sad on my wedding day?
The bells ring, the people of Auld Reekie say
Was it James who said to Westminster,
You the husband, she is the bride,
She the Mrs, you the mister.
Why not marry,
For long we have tarried.
For a century, we have courted,
A flag of red white and blue flown atop ships,
Scottish stories on English lips.
Paranoia drove necessary action,
Fear over succession or invasion,
Taking the throne from a brother
to promise to a distant cousin.
Not a love match,
But a dynastic match,
Strategy over romance you see,
When Anne takes her daughter to the altar
To do her duty.
‘I will grow to love you,’ the groom does say,
‘I promise to honour love and obey’
Despite the promise of a new birth,
Why is she sad on her wedding day?
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,
With election fever raging, I have created another free ebook of political poetry, called ‘Cross in the box.’
One such poem in the collection is this call for young people to register to use their ‘voice’ at the ballot box in May.
Use your voice
Use your voice,
Don’t lose your voice,
Your voice was not a gift given
But a right fought for,
Your right of choice denied to so many.
that they’re all the same
But they will only hear those who use their voice,
Who make their choice.
If you want to change the world,
You need not be a philosopher,
A rich man, nor politician,
Put a cross in the box,
Make your choice,
Use your voice,
Don’t lose your voice.
The future can change,
The land can slide,
With only the sound of your voice.
A new politics
We need a grown up politics
Not a Punch and Judy
‘He said she said’,
We need substance over style,
We see bluster,
Filibuster, while we dream,
We call for
A real politics.
We need a change,
A revolution in thinking politics,
A ‘get things done’ politics.
A politics truly of the people
for the people,
‘Not just for ambitious people’ politics.
A new politics.
What a fickle master Old Father is,
Tick tock goes the clock,
Hours can feel like an eternity,
Whilst minutes can slip by like sand.
With the sceptres of the big & little hands,
He rules, he commands.
Those without and with power are subject to his rule,
By second, minute, hour,
To his dance across the sky,
Across the clock
But that’s ok,
I don’t think the same way,
Football wasn’t a game I could play
This skinny lad with 4 eyes never really fitted in,
I preferred the book,
Preferred to express myself through colour, through the brush and pen.
I preferred to be strange,
Sticking out like a sore thumb,
Better than being ‘normal’, humdrum,
What is normal, what is perfect?
What is it to truly fit in anyway?
But really, that’s ok.