The Streets are Talking

Image credit – Clay Banks

The streets are on fire.
Smoke coats our tongues
like iron in our blood.

We walk for our rights
as weedy paths like barbed
wire lacerate our ankles.

God is in our shouts.
Demands for justice pour
forth smelling of lilies.

Winds of hope on the horizon
are felt like cherry blossom,
delicate and beautiful

but not short lived.


Child Refugees Arriving into the UK

it’s a jungle over there
families and homes lost
swept away in the nights
of terror and violence
reoccurring cries and
rivers of blood
rape and pillage
dead bodies piling up
left for maggots
normal life floating
to the bottom of the sea
then these minor chords
flood British ports
saturate our decent society
with facial hair
built like men – ‘my, haven’t
you’ve grown!’
let’s check your teeth
same old story
show us your teeth
open up
turn around
skin and bones
a minor detail
we worked you
until there was no life left
poured you out
broke you down
into our sugar
coffee tobacco whatever
fields flowing with profit
you were nothing to us except a price tag
now you’re coming home to roost
we’re checking tags
we owe you nothing