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Dragon Father Wakens


A righteous rage bursts forth; a mighty roar
Too long coiled within its egg incubating
Sets the skies alight with livid lightning:
“No! No more! Dragon seed, prepare for war!”
A vile canker festers from shore to shore;
Views land, people just there for ravishing
Yet no amount of pillaging and killing
Can ever quench that bellowing greedy maw.

Leaves sore ears ringing, deaf to all reasoning.
Comes now a settling of accounts: a day of reckoning.
For Mother Earth has suffered for too long.
Her newly risen son sings the dragon song.
His voice rings out from shore to sea-swept shore:
“No! No more! Dragon seed, prepare for war!”


Clanging Cymbals – A Sevenling


Life takes its course
Demise a constant threat
All things must pass

Questions pose themselves
We tender our own certainties
We fight and murder over faith

In truth we haven’t a clue

The Monstrous Reality Of War

“Of course, war and the large military establishments are the greatest sources of violence in the world. Whether their purpose is defensive or offensive, these vast powerful organizations exist solely to kill human beings. We should think carefully about the reality of war. Most of us have been conditioned to regard military combat as exciting and glamorous – an opportunity for men to prove their competence and courage. Since armies are legal, we feel that war is acceptable; in general, nobody feels that war is criminal or that accepting it is criminal attitude. In fact, we have been brainwashed. War is neither glamorous nor attractive. It is monstrous. Its very nature is one of tragedy and suffering.” – The Dalai Lama.

Please read the whole of what he has to say here:

Understanding The Global Economic Collapse


Understanding the global economic collapse


Five Days, Five Quotes: Day Five

“If we use the term in accord with its official definitions, then, uncontroversially, Israel (like the US, Britain, Turkey and others) is a terrorist state by the standards we apply to official enemies.” – Noam Chomsky.

The Path To Peace


No more rage, no more hate, no more war
No more rage, no more hate, no more
No more rage, no more hate, no
No more rage, no more hate
No more rage, no more
No more rage, no
No more rage
No more

Poetry challenge #5: Nonet

Bringing It All Back Home


Love and Fear
Eternal combat
Religious trivia
Muddies the water

(And this is no studio album either)

Jet Plane Warbirds


Noisomely loudly
Splitting our quiet skies
Oh when will you return home?

Be gone, fey daughters of mad Zeus
Be done with twirling your bloody fingers
Fondling their hard-won garlands demanded
And then – oh but of course – soon discarded

Gladiators meet, mete out death, make meat
Reborn as gliadioli – erect, sword-shaped
Leaves and spikes of flowers – overblown
In a superfluity of colour, so over fulsome

Be gone, be gone, we beseech thee
Leave us in peace, in peace
In blessed peace

Home From Afghanistan (stripped down version)


The organ breathes softly in the still air.
The gentle hesitant notes,
just enough to underline the silence,
not wanting to intrude.

In a corner, with the dust and cobwebs,
a few bits of confetti,
reminders of joyful celebrations.
A world away today.

In the vestry the vicar rehearses.
Murmurs reassuring words,
“We gather to remember and honour …”
And puts on his surplice.

Everyone in the surrounding area
is here to show their respect.
“Died immediately, mercifully.”
“By a sniper, I think.”

Someone’s mobile goes off and is silenced.
Curious, a small child whispers,
“Mummy, where do people go when they die?”
“Hush, pet,” is the answer.


VETERAN by Richard Harris

I met an old horse in a field,
waiting, with one hoof cocked, as if
always ready for flight or fight.
And as I came forward with a handful of grass,
his ears did not flatten,
nor did his nostrils flare.
But the eyes! I saw his eyes.

Eyes that had seen more than any man.
Eyes that chose paths through mud and fallen men
pulling the guns at Passchendaele.
Eyes wide with the mad charge they made,
the Light Brigade.
Eyes that watched with the Corsican as
he lost his final Waterloo,
that glinted in the rising sun with
Chinggis and his terror-horde,
stared dumb with Cortez at
the great Pacific,
looked blankly on while Alexander wept
at burning Persepolis.

He took the grass, obediently, gracefully; no –
magisterially, in his acceptance of
a field, a bite to eat; of a stall, a coat in winter;
and, as he looked beyond me.
Of all that he had ever seen and been before.


Another fine poem of Richard’s. You may find more of his work here.

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