The thing with torture

words move, torture, humour, war games, effectiveness, interrogator


On the African savannah,
The mission brief had been simple.
Go in and find a Warthog,
By sunset.

The Americans had nuked the place,
Then claimed there had been none,
To begin with.

The Israelis against strong,
Local advice,

Had sent in Mossad,

Why go in looking like food?

They lost good men to lions,
But eventually got their warthog.

The Africans, however,
Had not reported by nightfall,

So at daybreak a search party was launched.

They found three sweaty soldiers,
Whipping a giraffe,
Spread-eagled securely to an Acacia tree,

Whilst the Sergeant-at-arms
-taking notes-
Yelled –
“Confess you’re a Warthog, confess!”

See – nigger, whore, bitch!

photo –

evocative short poetry – words move


short poetry, evocative, environment, growth, spiritual, freedom, new, fresh

why don’t you?

lift your arms and
heal yourself

stand taller than you
were made

be stronger
than fear

mould dreams into

why don’t you
set root and

paint the world
green with envy

you are alive

simplify your needs and
grow wings,

or stand still,
and skin lizards,

decorate yourself
with war paint,

shake off the dust,
why don’t you

uproot yourself and
walk a mile

in any direction you like,

you must at least

To rage against
this idea

that you cannot

and perhaps
the sweat off your brow

will seed
fertile ground,

coat handsome men with lust
for life


photo –

evocative short poetry – words move

Looking for the rain

short poetry, depression, clouds, isolataion


You’re covered in the shit of life.
Great big clumps of it.

Hands jammed so far down,
Your pockets,

You have become,
A statue in the park.

Someone once told me,
Look up when you’re down,
There’s God in the clouds.

Rabbits in tuxedo’s and hedgehogs exploding,
Bands of men with strong pointed noses,
Streams of women with long flowing scarves,
Platters of cheese and housewives in Bath-tubs,

Stoves and kettles and cottages
with smoke-stacks,

and Einstein
And soldiers reloading-

I could use some rain.

photo –  MEG BHA at Gossamer Dreams on WordPress/

evocative short poetry – words move