The Lost Lamb


Stumbled today while browsing
As is alas too frequently the case
‘pon words of a fellow scribbler
Who had also, seems, stumbled

Without either failing to notice
Or perhaps even failed to care

Gave up the ghost of inspiration
Fumbled on and so misstepped
Then published (and be damned)
With time leaning on the doorbell

No blame or judgement of mine
(Beyond those too late to deny)
Yet I miss what might have been
Without a premature judgement

The untimely call to strike camp
Better listen to the inner voice
The heart – the inspiring spirit
O go ye seek the one lost lamb


- Source: How-To Geek Newsletter (



Do you hear these words
And limit the metaphor?
“The sky’s the limit”

Just Say No


That which will not bend
Is in danger of breaking
Or else of being broken

Then again there are times
When it is time not to bend
Lest one’s soul be broken



Stream of consciousness
Alive with interconnections
Of shape, message, meaning
Projected upon it from the bank

Linguistic Analysis


Some inquisitive professor started
Counting the use of our language:
Content words; function words; etc*

Of course I should fall in love with
This analysis of my use of words
Affording a window into the soul

More worrying though is the fact
That such a linguistic analysis
Might be undertaken by others

Unless – once bitten, twice shy
I have had the opportunity to
Duly preprune my outpourings

At this point as if riding to my rescue
Poetry raised its beautiful head and
We nodded to one another in unison





They lay down the rules
Here on the crest of the wave
We revision them

The Artist


You live through Your art
And speak through Your creations
Their message? Thou art

Great Truths


The greatest Truths
Are those which

When you realise them
Your view of the world
Is totally transformed

And you ask yourself how
Given so obvious they are
You never saw them before

Twin Towers


They went on and called
The World Trade Centre
The Twin Towers
Despite Tolkien

Despite Tolkien

Despite Tolkien
They went on and called
The World Trade Centre
The Twin Towers

They didn’t do irony

They honoured profit instead
Even in their hometown*
Morgoth and Sauron, Saruman
Shiny windows, shiny cars

Shiny lives

And to them malice only existed
A world away, when somebody
Usually with funny coloured skin
Dared to get in the way

Kiss of death

September the Eleventh, Two Thousand and One
Business as usual, a bright sunny day
Suddenly all that certainty and security gone
A truly impolite awakening, for sure

A quite rude awakening in fact

I worked out from way back
Not to keep saving drowning people
Better to sort out the villains
Who were busy dumping them in

And laughing

So I spent the morning, then the afternoon
Sure it would arrive, claiming responsibility
Just three words – Enough Is Enough
Yours sincerely, Oxfam

Big disappointment


* “But Jesus said unto them, A prophet is not without honour, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house.” (Mark 6:4)



“It’s tough to counterpoise hot-button issues with rationality.” – Russ Baker

Please note that this poem is not intended to imply any disrespect to the people who died when the World Trade Organisation buildings were destroyed, nor to the many thousands of people who have been killed or had their lives disrupted or destroyed as a consequence. This poem is not about Al Qaeda. It is not about the high impact of an instant “terrorism” attack but the slow motion obscenity of induced poverty and starvation. So while all that light is being shone today on what we are expected to concentrate on – the events at one particular place on one particular day thirteen years ago, here’s another little spotlight on the same events, but from another perspective on what the World Trade Organisation represents and its impact on the suffering of not thousands but millions of people all over the world every day.

“As we move deeper into an age of misinformation, disinformation, and superfluous information, maintaining our collective memory will more and more depend on honest information brokers; storytellers, journalists, investigative reporters who pursue a story with a passion and hunger for truth.” – Bill Berkowitz

“We use the madness to separate the events so that we don’t have to recognize the politics they have in common. The madness of each individual act enables us to distance ourselves from the politics that burn under the polite society we’ve created” – Bill Berkowitz

“Why, in a world that produces more than enough food to feed everybody, do so many – one in seven of us – go hungry?”
– Growing A Better Future: Food Justice In A Resource-constrained World



Here in the maelstrom
To be happy is wise
And yet

To seek
The happiness of others
Is perhaps wiser yet

Though at first
One may follow
False trails

Take care
Listen hard
And in silence


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