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!


There were past life-styles
To forget
For fashions change with time.
Privilege was not regret,
Nor happiness a crime.

Some stances of today
Are of concern.
Memories are kept at bay
Until we can discern,

What to teach from the past?
Can we really know?
Wind the memory tapes back fast
Then play them real slow.

Images to haunt the mind;
This we will inherit.
On screens they’ve left behind.
Much of it has merit.

Much of it! Oh! Much of it!
So much of it about us.
Let us treasure every bit.
Or earth may die without us!


Aleppo fallen! Murder rife!
Bullets, bombs, bitter strife.
How many of us kneel and pray
For mercy and peace, to rule the day?

Riches, this planet’s great resource
Love, must be bequeathed, of course
But childens inheritance of peace
Can only happen if wars cease.

We are old, to rest inclined
Yet question what we leave behind.
Some say, “Who cares? We won’t be here.
There is only death to fear”

So much taken, So much broken
Perhaps this poem is a token?
Yet this too can burn.
When? Oh when, will people learn?


Dad had to march for his job.
We came to London today.
We joined the march at the start
And heard the Colliery band play.

Huge banners, slogans and such.
The rain crashed down on my head.
At times it seemed a bit much,
But I thought of our cause instead.

I held my banner up high.
Then brilliant lightening flared.
People cheered as we went by.
I was surprised so many cared.

Yes we all got soaking wet.
The crowd called out “Well done!”
I kept my features set,
For I’m a coal miner’s son!


The lights of a plane in the sky.
Where will it fly?
I don’t know.

To a country over the sea?
A long way from me?
I don’t know.

Who drops bombs on the poor?
How many lands are at war?
I don’t know.

Pictures we see on a screen
Of refugees. What does it mean?
I don’t know.

Do we accept what we’re told?
Is news fabricated then sold?
I don’t know.

Does anybody know
Who directs the whole show?
We don’t know, we don’t know.
We don’t know
We don’t know!


She wore orange sandals
To match her top.
And went garment hunting
From shop to shop.
The Oxford street crowd
Were milling around.
None seemed right
Each attire she found.

Most people looked
Plump and well dressed
With styles so varied
They were blessed.
She saw a man as
She glanced down
Emptying a bin, with
An angry frown.

An East European
Working for less.
One of the people
Who cleans London’s mess.
Lives are being led
Here on many levels.
Makes you wonder if
The power’s the Devils.

Does it cross her mind
The man lives in a dive,
With scarce enough food
To stay alive?
That he works so long
In the summer heat.
Just another slave of
Oxford Street?

No, it’s the dress
That fills her mind.
The one she tried
So hard to find.
Amber gold silk
With a flowing skirt
Swirling above
The pavement’s dirt!