Tag: Sunday

Seven Horses

Leaving my campsite one Sunday
with the daylight nearly gone,
in the scruffy field across the road
a procession strode quietly on.

A string of seven horses
walked towards a corner tree.
Quietly, full of purpose
and oblivious of me.

Three foals gambolled at the front - 
there was order, it was clear.
Their attentive mothers followed close
and a stallion brought up the rear.

In circular assembly beneath the tree
they stood facing out together.
Ready to face any enemy
or changes in the weather.

Now ghostly, and almost lost
wrapped in the coming night,
the seven horses settled down
and disappeared from my sight.

September 2003

Deceptions

Greedy London getting fatter
Europe poised to steal our funds
Does our sovereignty really matter
Why not join the moribunds?

Carefully crafted 'green' platforms
Painted with selective facts
Don't let balance spoil the picture
Shout louder if a view detracts.

High placed men of God
Protect the dogs of shame
Who abuse and wound our babies
And Sunday still play the game.

Town and country planners
Making decisions at a bar
Permitting more carbuncles
And we don't know who you are.

What of honest policemen
Who tell of what they know
And watch corrupt superiors
Distorting with the flow.

Within our democracy
We are asked to trust
That good will show out always
And we endure because we must.

But small men and women
Who try to tell the truth
Are but small slates upon
Our societies leaking roof.