Friday, 16 October 2015


My heart deafens me thunderously, 
My stomach twists and churns typhoon like.
A change in the atmosphere, thick and clinging to me like a damp rag.
A storm's brewing, cumulonimbus pushing my brow down, I can't breathe.
Has someone turned the gravity up, it presses on my weak and weary muscles, not again, not now, not here, please.
The storm continues to rage inside me,
Low level electricity up and down my arms.

I'm frightened, I know I'm not going to die, am I? 
I plant my feet, to ground me and stop the movement.
There is no safe place, no where to shelter.
My body knows something I don't,
one day I hope to hear it, to understand.

Sunday, 25 January 2015


Atos don't give a toss,
Even when their decisions cause the loss, of life.
You can, if you like, read about the hundreds that have taken their life,
After an Atos assessment found them fit for work,
but not fit for compassion.

Letters declaring 'fit for work' to souls on their death beds,
It doesn't get colder than that.
What rat sat in an office and sanctioned that?
Benefits stopped, life line, support.
Who ever thought, this was progress.
One man starved to death at home alone, after they cut him off.
Unplugged him from the main supply,
his measly £57 a week back in the pot, for what?

Not a medical qualification in sight
Yet they think they have the right to decide your fate based on their 'clinical knowledge'.
Clinical as an adjective means unemotional and scientifically detached,
How apt!

In a war with the poor, ill and disabled.
There are only casualties on one side.
The pen is mightier than the sword.
No need for gas chambers here,
progress is slow but steady
And the Tories are always ready
with new buzz words to justify their acts.

I bet the job description for an Atos worker reads,
We're looking for a cold hearted judgemental bastard with a strong lack of compassion.
Must have delusions of grandeur and a slight God complex but still be a stickler for government rules and regulations.
The successful candidate mustn't hold humanity in high regard
If my only option was a job like that, I'd rather starve.

Sunday, 11 January 2015

I've not updated my blog for quite a while, I have been busy with my lovely nocturnal baby boy.  This poem woke me up in the middle of the night a few months ago.

Show me the God.

Show me the racist God
with his twisted smile,
That rubs his hands with glee
When you judge your fellow man as inferior.
For something as natural as skin colour,
Yet give thanks for ALL that he created in you.

Show me the sexist God,
That struts around with pride,
Every time you put that bitch in her place
Exclude her from your practices
And tell her how she must live her life in his name.

Show me the homophobic God,
That prances round with gay abandon
Every time you outcast someone for who they love.
Force them to live a lie,
Or worse, not live at all.

Show me, and I will look this phantom in your face
And say, you do not exist.
Then they won't, at least not to me.