Foxgloves High

Hopping, skipping, and self-seeding,

the gardener's prize for not weeding.

Commitment-phobes, they move at will,

form a rosette, and settle in.

They take their time, 

then retire.

Foxgloves high

and mighty spire.

Fort Worth

An unfiltered brightness

blinds me, in Fort Worth.

To East Chase, on a bicycle,

shouts from pick-up trucks,

like, "lady, don't die."

The grass sounds and scents

the journey, and I stop half way.

I stand, aware of the movements,

and make sure to stay away

from the vegetation's inhabitants.

In the house, I don't realise 

that cats and air-con

live hermetically-sealed lives,

and will be long gone

if an opening is even implied.

Bottles For Crushing

The civilised entries,

of bottled-water empties,

are sobering sights

for the cola-prone. 

Not one machine working

once I'm done returning

my bottles for crushing,

Diet Pepsi and Coke.

If she were stronger

she'd mainline no longer,

but she's weak and addicted,

and she's very old.

She's got vouchers profuse

that she forgets to use,

from her bottles for crushing,

Diet Pepsi and Coke.

In the Covid pandemic

she stocked up incessant,

but not one sliced pan

or pack of toilet rolls.

Her husband despaired,

and her children went spare,

but she had bottles for crushing,

Diet Pepsi and Coke.

(To the tune of Molly Malone).

No Bells

Maytrees flowering,

like nothing is wrong.

Rain still showering

all spring long.

Age is devouring 

youth and song.

No bells left to ring,

that time is gone.

April

The cat resigned to stay inside,
staring out from his cushioned settle,
following a fieldmouse with his eyes
until it merged with the moss and pebbles.

The thirty-first was dull.
March had come in like a lion
and gone out like a discouraged one,
leaving April to be defiant.

It will still be spring for a month.

Time for the sun to touch and rouse

flagging spirits and feared outcomes,

making things right, turning them round.

The Surrogates' Tale

Old Abraham was eventually led

to fatherhood, by Hagar's bed.

The surrogate begets the heir,

then Isaac sets him back to spare.

Mithra, Constantine

replaced with Christianity,

but kept the details of the Persian god:

Shepherds at the birthing scene,

Magi there for visiting.

Tradition covers up the fraud.

There's Jacob, his harem steading,

his wives' younger sisters bedding.

Wedded wombs and concubines

bring forth the heads of the twelve tribes.

Mithra, Constantine

replaced with Christianity,

but kept the details of the Persian god:

Shepherds at the birthing scene,

Magi there for visiting.

Tradition covers up the fraud.

Mary, handmaid of all handmaids,

when virgin birth was all the rage.

Rhea raped for Rome's first brothers,

Raised not by Mars, but Faustulus.

Mithra, Constantine

replaced with Christianity,

but kept the details of the Persian god:

Shepherds at the birthing scene,

Magi there for visiting.

Tradition covers up the fraud.

Burn

Maybe, just to be safe,
they should burn right down

every single dwelling place

in every single town.

It would reassure these tyrants

that the housing list

is as much for migrants

as for arsonists.

If we could exchange

these criminals for refugees,

it would save time on statements

from the dogs in the streets.

A Different Woman

As a one-remaining-grandparent child 

I was absolutely fascinated by
the idea of other children going to
their nana's after school.
As a treat.

A far-fetched notion to me
whose grandmother seemed

at the very best, removed.

But, Anna's set of photos prove
all her happy years.

Cursory Rhyme

All the different spiders
went up the water spouts,
down came the rain
and left the spiders in no doubt
that there isn't enough sunshine
to dry up all the rain,
and that flood prevention measures

must be put in place.

Even little spiders

can work the problem out,

floods must be contained

and kept away from every house.

The spiders think that hosepipe

bans could be prevented if we drained

away the excess water

and stored it for sunny days.

Unfair Trade

The British Mandate's broken promise,

an unfair trade, never honoured.

Oranges and lemons, say the bells of South Yemen,

You got a good bargain on the African carving,

When will you pay us?, say subcontinent natives.

You became rich, say the bells of Serendib.

Now boxing clever, with ringside neighbour:

May the odds be ever in your favour.

(Rishi Sunak, the UK prime minister, met with Benjamin Netanyahu in Israel, on 19th October, to declare the UK's support for the Israel prime minister and his country. He said, "we want you to win."

Win? The Hamas attacks on 7th October were not the beginning of animosity between Palestine and Israel. Israel has not suddenly become aware of Hamas as an enemy. I don't understand why the UK, and the US for that matter, seem to think that the Hamas atrocities of 7th October mark the start of a war that came out of nowhere.

To me, the people on the Gaza strip are like those in the arena in The Hunger Games).