A song for Bekaa Valley (2015)

They were only babies.

Some of them young enough

To never have known

The outside world.

A place without

airstrikes and snipers.

Where a night's sleep

isn't broken by fear.

All innocence left behind

as they walked the road from Damascus.

A community of makeshift tents

offered a temporary reprieve.

The first sanctuary

their short lives had ever known.

Only they weren't safe.

Their presence unsettled the neighbours.

Mired by indifference,

beleaguered by war.

I faced the children of Syria

on Mothering Sunday.

But I saw no flowers.

Or chocolates.

Just unaddressed cards.

These were no longer babies.

Starting a fresh ...

I kept this blog for the best part of a decade. It was littered with my written thoughts that I believed to be prose, alongside those naive poems I'm sure many young writers are guilty of. 

Then I got a proper job and decided it wasn't wise having the past eight years of my life serialised for the whole world (and my employers) to see.

So I took it all down. A decision I've since regretted. 

Yesterday it was World Poetry Day. And since I was guilty of producing some fairly dubious poetry I figured now was as good a time as any to make amends.

Don't get my wrong it wasn't all bad (I got 9,000 hits - a higher number than most poetry books sell in a year) therefore I intend to resurrect the better stuff. Albeit with a slightly more mature voice. Boy becomes man. Or something like that.

For Herbert and Enid (2012)

The prophet said ...

There are some people who should
have mountains named after them,

to bear their names to time.

Gravestones are not high enough, or green,

and wreaths are prone to the inevitability of nature.

For we are all inevitable to nature.

Even he who tended to his flock

in the bitterest of winters

and she who nurtured her flowerbeds

throughout the cold snap of spring.

And as such, it is for these two,

Enid and Herbert, Mum and Dad, Nana and Grandad,

that I stand in front of you today

and propose we name a mountain after them.

Whether it be metaphorical,

when a challenge seems too daunting,

or physical,

when a fight appears too hard.

Let us name these mountains after them,

for through their strength,

which we draw from the relentless love

and care they bestowed upon us,

no challenge, or fight, could ever be that hard.

Let us climb whatever mountains life has in store for us

and let us reach those peaks.

For when we do

you can be sure they will be right there beside us,

smiling and watching over us,

still showering us with their strength and love.

proud of what we achieve.