Across cornfields
The empty sky.
Gone, gone are
The buildings high.
Gone, gone are motor cars.
They have returned
The silver stars.

And the bright technology
Has been vanquished
No electricity.
No gas, no heat
No telephone.
Man outlined on the sky

And now the human
must survive
In a world without
comfort and he
Must strive
Working the land
And woman too
Must begin to learn
Old things anew

Who is the enemy
That one blames?
Was it the Russians
Or the Americans who
Destroyed the modern
World in flames
Or was it me and
Was it you?



I learnt to stand up for the Queen
And to praise the British Empire.
They didn’t say what it did mean.
I only found out this had been
Achieved by theft and gun fire.
Once I was grown
Those seeds deep sewn
Were bitterly disputed.
It’s now too late to atone
The history I could not own
Was brutally uprooted.

They told us of the bravery,
But not about the slavery.
Can we come to terms with it?
And everyone of us admit
The truth about our past?
And tear the veil of mystery
Once more from our history
And all of us accept reality at last!


Doors slamming.
Cars bleeping.
Wind howling.
Not sleeping.
Babies yowling.

Bed creaking.
Music playing.
Radio speaking.
Dogs baying.
Tap leaking.

Engines roaring.
Rain pattering.
Husband snoring.
Wind battering.
Neighbours chattering.

Siren screaming.
Phone ringing.
Sun beaming.
Birds singing.
Morning gleaming.


They disconnect
Your intellect
The tabloids
Every day
With headlines
Made to catch the eye
To stimulate
A hue and cry
With shapely girls
At play.

Footballer’s escapades
And film stars
Wearing shades
And who is
And isn’t gay.
The media can annoy,
Or brain cells
With sensations stale
Expenses fraud
Ignore the Lord
And read
The Daily Mail?

Life must be a mess
In the Express
With all its rage.
It causes stress.
Surely written
From duress
The angry front page!
‘Bonkers, perverts
Scroungers, cheats’
This verbal violence
us all in shops
Where children go!

From the papers
The language has
Done much harm
Annihilating words
Of charm.
A blight on everyone:
The paper called ‘The Sun’
Too many people want to read.
We have this need
For self righteous
To sweep away the blame
And find love
sacrificed for fame
And blight
With the language of
Another generation!


The sun still shines in many places.
We no longer reign supreme.
Will Britain with her many faces
Change to a more loving theme?

The rain still falls on green Britain.
Homes continue to be built.
Gone the power history’s written
Time has not assuaged our guilt.

Though we walk in paths congested
Breathing fumes of London’s air,
The good food we have digested
Confirms the privilege of care.

The work ahead may seem endless.
Most refugees are still not fed.
While they often seem so friendless
And too many now are dead.

Will world leaders work together
To improve things for the poor
And not leave them wondering whether
Life’s worth living any more!


If the best we can do
Is the least we can do
Then we’ll fear not
The local spite.
We will do everything
In our power we can do
To make everything alright.

When we face all the
That might come our way
We will try to resolve
What some can’t.
And we’ll say all the things
We’ve been meaning to say
We shall not betray you.
We shant.

If our motives are good
That is reason enough
To be out of a favoured domain.
We are among those
Who are finding it tough
But are sharing each
Other’s pain.

If the most we can do
Is all that we do
Then our heads can be held
Up high.
We will fight on
And we know that you too
Together with us, will try.


Let not the children of tomorrow
Inherit our sorrow
As we disregard our planet’s worth.
For what we leave behind
Surely will unwind
When they no longer celebrate
Each birth.

As stars shine in the deep,
Our imaginations leap
To a future no longer ours.
We shall not see them weep
When only pictures keep
Alive the memory of trees and flowers.

When all lights are artificial
And friendships superficial,
Lonliness the usual mode of living.
They may not know the regret
Of their forefathers and yet
Let’s hope they find a way
Of forgiving!