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I see the children starving and thin so weak their little bodies make no din. No harvest to collect no cattle to bring in just baron land dust and sand.

Disease gets a grip while they are a kip. Another child lost to famine another family takes a hit.

They come to blight you, why would they fight you kill all your men oh what will stop this war?  This famine this hurt what can we do to stop death being a dead cert.

Food comes on the back of a truck, rice and water with any luck. Yet your government accept no blame as they carry on this killing game. Still buying their guns and planes.

The world is not listening nor does it care, after all, we are not there. One third of the world eats two thirds of the worlds food, it’s not fair why can’t we share. So, we don’t see the little children with their death stare the one on the telly showing their despair.

Soon you hope the rains will come and so new shoots can yield a crop and no more children will Sercombe

We are all human and share basic dreams, we all know what your loss means, but we are too busy eating our greens and showing the world how mean we can be. It’s not one person, it’s up to us all the counties government, the gun sellers, you and me yes one and all.

When daylight fades into the night, shade and shadows cast a long hue across the ground and all there is to rock the senses is sound. This is where the night comes with a bound.

The love smitten teenagers kiss and the bark and whine of the hounds break the air. Chasing things that are not there. The cold breeze cuts the air with a freezing bite as storm flies fight and dance under the neon streetlight.

Headlights from cars are just coming on as they zoom past and fade out of sight. The sun has all but disappeared and lost all its heavenly might.

Finally, the darkness closes and its once again night. Only the signs of artificial light fill my line of flight. Kebabs to the left busses to the right follow the path until they are out of sight.

My home beckons as I stumble to the right finally reaching sanctuary from the foreboding night. My key is in the lock and with a lurch I’m in the dock, checking the time, it’s 6 o’clock.

The house is warm and smells of you and all the good times with our children and me and you. But no love fills this room, no more intimate moments in front of the fire lit by the moon.

Make some food then off to bed another night without you I dread. I go to sleep with visions of you running through my head.

Green grass and cricket pitches, football goals and rugby posts. Our local park where loads of cars park their occupants enjoying a lark down on the grass amongst the trees covered in bark.

Bordered by trees that change colour in the autumn and throw down their conkers for children to collect and thread on to laces and bash at five paces.

Lakes with swans and ducks and Canadian geese choosing here for their holidays instead of Grease. Children feeding the birds with lettuce, oats and grapes cut into thirds. Onto the next lake with fishermen; dogs running on leads and cages of plants that look like reeds people on bikes and toddlers on trikes circle the lake in take.

Then to the boats so colourful and neat all the children paddling trying for to not let their boats meet.

The playground is full of young and old whether its sunny or braving the cold, climbing and swinging and hanging too, then off to the ice cream van to see what’s new. 99’s and ice lollies, cans of pop and cornets and cornettoes all kinds of sauces red, green and blue. Sprinkles and a flake the ice cream taste was worth the wait.

On to the colourful bouncy slide, leaving our shoes and socks to the side. Up to the top we must climb then bounce down the slope three at a time.

Then it’s time to leave this paradise where everything seems so tranquil and nice. Past the runners of all ages and size some trying to trim fat off their thighs. Now back to the car to drive home alone refreshed from our day at the park in our town.

 

Wind blowing, waves rippling with low light on the peaks of the water which laps at the side as the ripples spread out wide. Moorhens and coots: swans and mallards swim to feed on what morsels we have to delight.

Back and forth the mallards go with and against the ebb and flow. The swan so graceful and white floats on the water as calm as a kite, diving for fish and any scrumptious delight.

The wind gets stronger the waves start to rush now the pigeons have arrived and are making a fuss. No bread we have to feed the birds just oats in a pot to save their world.

People sit on the bench watching the world pass watching the birds and the waves. The serenity of the lake they crave. Greens and yellows and browns and blues young girls and boys in colourful shoes.

3am in the morning and i am yawning my bed is calling and I am sprawling,
the lark starts the chorus off. birds tweet, tweet then there are sheep that bleat, the woodpecker too and the bark of the fox and a badger or two.

Off to bed on my weary legs after I have drank down my coffee dregs. I rest my head in sot white pillows, what’s in my head no one knows.

I feel warm down to my toes and even my nose dips under the bed clothes. into sleep very deep and not a peep do I make for no one else do I want to wake.

Cats and dogs and birds and rain what a din they make again. I wake very late and pontificate about the merits of staying up late.

There is nothing worse on your way home than miles upon miles of traffic cones. All standing to attention in line making your journey take more time. Flashing orange upon their head, the sight of queues we all dread.

Motorway signs flash in time to tell us all to get in line and we all sit and cuss and whine. A dance a movement a mass exodus tail lights blazing in red decadence. Behind the cones no man or woman goes but still the signs above still flash slow. The obedient line waiting to go like cars on the start line of a grand prix waiting for the signal for go to show.

Cold and wet as I have been set in this one place for nearly a day. Watching adults pass and children play. Hunger in my belly, feet infected and smelly.

By night I am hidden by day I am I am forbidden. Lazy, ill. waste of space as everyone passes at a fair pace. But some stop and give money or food, others abuse and spit in your face.

I was once like you, before I lived on the street with a hole in my shoe. I was once a passer-by who never stopping to wonder why. Now I live from day to day for my misfortune I must pay. Constantly looking for a place to stay.

My drink helps me numb the pain so I don’t have to think again. It stops the hunger for most of the day and helps me to sleep where I lay hoping I will open my eyes on a new day.

So, move me on if you want so I don’t show on your doorstep but I will be there where ever you are sleeping on the pavement or in a car. Give me not money or food but give me a chance to live in your neighbourhood.

This is my island full of hope and life. This is the land where I grew up and took a wife.

This is my England of Green and pleasant fields and land where crops grow for food yield. An England where people love and care and heroes dare.

This is my country of which I am proud, my country with a diverse crowd. This is the place I call home, not far from it do I roam.

Yet this is an island of hate and venom, where people want to hurt and maim. This is where we fight and argue this where we forget about me and you.

This is the island on which I live a place where we love and give. This is the place where I shall die and for the rest of my days my body will lie.