Portant ils étaient jeune

Envoyé loin pour mourir

Tiré sous par des canons

Oublient leurs désirés


Plient sous les ordres

Bousculée par des chocs

Dans le boue la désordre

Des rats qui sont moque


L’eau stagne a côte du corps

Yeux vidés camarades sanglots

Chaussures pleins,morale n’était pas fort

Dans nos coeurs que des regrets


Éboueurs des âmes sensibles

Fusils prêts à ciblée

Quelle tâche pénible

Pour les criblés



The magpie, clumsy in its grace

Hops and bows, flitters wings

Jabs jumps in every place

Stealing rings from stoney Kings

Steals the crown from off their heads

And flies away to branched beds.


27 Hillsborough

The years authorities lied

Told us sterotypes were sound

Had us disbelieve our very eves

Hid the facts when all around

Folks were shouting, how they cried

Fought until the grave and ground

Grabbed them took them to the side

Still they fought till truth was found

The facts they couldn’t hide

Redtopragtop’s shame was not profound

Fans marked and then denied.


Murdoch’s trash and Maggies Plan

South Yorks police, where’s your pride?

May we never hear from them again.

Fans Walk on with heads held high

Guilty ones to go to trial

Guilty get what fans never did

A fair trail with no sordid

Headlines in a crappy rag

Who dig in dead phones spreading hate


Told us of “Filthy yobs

Drunken yobs with dirty gobs”

But they were decent folk and true

Just fans like me and you

Went to watch their team play

Rain and snow, home and away

Told us “’twas the fans that day

Who spat and stole and peed as well

On dead babies ain’t that swell”

Never more the Rag we’ll buy

A load of crap, a load of lies

Perverting justice all those years

Sobbing families all those tears

I’d like to see them rot in jail

But gong’s they’ll get, tis my fear

And they’ll  cash in with their tales.




They sat in their line

Blue chairs , metal flaking

Metro station with their wine

Fingers puffed and aching

Sat next to the exit sign

Drunk beyond pain and faking


Pool of wine pool of piss

Away from life’s pain

Lost in their alcoholic mist

All day drink,drunk in vain

They know nothing’s list

Nothing to lose, lots to gain?


Still there when we come back.

Sat in the chairs, eyes shut

Hunched far away from lack?

Wine spilled , wine glut

Drunk so much they hack

And curse at the track.


Trains goes by, people get on , off

Not looking at those men, knuckles clenched

They’ve been there so long ,they dont give a toss

And life’s game passes by , from grip’s wrenched

Hard drugs or soft , they’ll gather their moss

Stinking and sinking thirst never quenched



Those ghosts on metros benched.


Paris l’endroit où l’art

Nous perce le coeurs

Comme des dards

Poussière,saleté, ville sans fleurs

Beauté dans les briques

La des monuments fantastique


Mille ans de vie, des gens qui marchent

Passent dans des rues, individuel

Des bonjours des villages,oublier l’arche

Lumières de vie, sous les semelles

Des styles mélanges,tas de grasse

Regardant des étoiles éternelles


Ripples on the stones

Wearing down

Slowly washing over them

Dragging them out

The tide comes

Burying all

In its frothy wake

Waking all

From their slumber sleep

The rolling tide

Ripping through

Etching salt

Salty spew

Roaring wave

Tugging hard

Pulling us

From our yards

Down to the sea

The spray and spume

The iodine air

Blows .


Earth day prompt


Make a change

Make it now

Make it you

Make it true


Chpping trees

Burning coal

Killing things

Watch them go


Far away

Out of sight

Living things

Dont get to fight


7 billion

Munching through

Turning cows

Into glue


Turning Whales

Into paint

Goodbye bees

Hello fate


We forget

The scales on wings

The jewelled beauty

Of living things


Packed lives

For pre packed fun

But hold your breath

How long be done?


So think and act

Dont chuck your trash

Dont use things

That cost less cash


If in the end

Those graced things die

And all because

Of you and I


Late in the day


Try to write something

Against the grain

That peircing thought

Through the furrowed brow

To try to mean

To think

Making rhythm

The word stumble against time

Wavering in shadows

Towards the line

We live, the living dying

In the shadows of the days.



Screaming Swift, swoops and soars

Gimlet eyed and blackened heads

Announcing summer with their words

In clouds they builds their downy beds


Flies across oceans and seas

Flits, flaps, floats and screeches high

Every year their sight to please

Every year I wonder why



The cabbage white floats on the breeze

The Swift is arrow straight and dives

Turns and glides to build its home

The cabbage white just flutters by,

Neither master of the sky.


So Graves’ White, Longfellow’s birds

Both fly through this azure world

Like us they seek other games

But each its destiny just the same.