They will stone you in God’s name

short poetry, politics, religion, government

It’s a revolt.
A revolution.

And in the name of God, they are building schools,
Delivering doctors, door to door.

They are conveying the message that people care,
And that no one is forgotten but,

Cameras are not allowed in some places.

People hoist burning American Flags,
Which melt and spit plastic,

Scarring children with big brown eyes and,

Women will not talk about this;
Allah is a man in uniform.

-evocative short poetry-

♦picture – Radu Sigheti for REUTERS♦

Pregnant in Dundee


How far would you travel from where you were born?

She spends more on her dogs in one week,
Than the government provides for those in trouble.

She’s a naturally happy person.

The mottled concrete walls of the council block she’s moved in to,
Complement her pock-marked, pink skin.

For a rich person,
She’s ugly.

The doors to buildings are painted bright colours,
-blues and greens-
And stand out against the brown stone that is everywhere.

Kevin is a mousey young man with stringy brown hair,
Recovering from drugs,
And she thinks he looks like a very nice man.

They are playing football on concrete outside,
-plants are expensive-
Now talking over vegetables, around a table,

About the young mothers who will be coming in to learn,
How to grow turnips –
Like growing confidence, they’ll be told.

Did you know that people move to Dundee from Warsaw?

Makes you wonder what Warsaw is like
-who’s fault it is that people can’t eat alcohol!

She’s hanging knickers out to dry and telling me that she’s discovered,
She doesn’t need all the shoes that she has,

And would it do if she were to donate,
A hundred and fifty thousand pounds instead?

They smile when they receive their checks.

Their blue doors fly open,
And when they say thank you, they mean it,
Money can make a difference.

Round the back,
The husband is in tears.

-evocative short poetry-

Morning Come

Your thoughts are on pink.

Pink elephants with floppy ears,
Pink polcadot pillows,

Pink rabbit-eared flip-flops with,
Non-slip soles,
Pink cereal,
Pink hair bobbins, and
The bright pink coffee shop,
You would take her to,
To apologise and review,
Her new pink shoes.

Why must everything be so loud?

Bedraggled mops slop over,
Tired hospital tiles,
The mobile phone on the bed-side table,
Won’t stop vibrating and the,
Bed-springs squeal,
Each time you move.

The smell of antiseptic will not overcome,
The stench of sweat on soiled sheets nor,
Iron in new blood,


Nine months of nausea,
Nine months of chocolate,
Will come your way again,


Morning come,
Morning come.