Wing

Caked in dirt and dust
Weathered by the last two days of brilliant sun
Part of you lays there
Sprawling, outstretched
As if reaching out for pity
Sixteen long finger-like feathers,
Crying out for help as it lies
Detarched from your body
And you are gone, far gone
Alive or dead, I cannot tell
But by the evidence given here
I must confess I have little hope
That breath still leaves your lungs
Once you would have flown high
Perching in the concrete rafters of the bridge I am under
You were one of those demons
Who spoilt the green grasses with white pellets
Going where ever and whenever you pleased
But then
You were part of nature itself
And now nature has reclaimed you back
As your wing lies there
Lined with bootprints
Squashed into the land
Individual fibres standing to attention in haphazard rows
Like soldiers on a field day
And the muscle
Those twists and turns of flesh
That adjoined this wing to your form
Before it was so cruelly ripped away
It curls before a dandelion
And in that moment I drop a tear
But then continue on my way
Because you are not the first dead bird
I've seen today

For you

For you
If I could
I would pluck the stars from heaven
And combine them in an exquisite bouquet
For you
If I could
I would fly to the farthest corner of the sky
And take the silver linings of clouds to weave them into a blanket
For you
If I could
I would swim to the darkest depths of the ocean and find the source of the Bermuda horrors
And bring it back as a wonder
For you
If I could
I would climb the highest mountain and pluck a single snowflake
Then carry it back in my frozen palms, perfect and preserved
For you
If I could
I would pause the concept of time
And let the world rest for a while so that we could stare into each other's eyes for eternity.
For you
If I could
I would capture the sparkle in a child's eye
Holding their imagination in a single idea and present it to you
For you
I would pluck out my heart, all bloody and dark and bruise
And hold it out
Dying
Suffocating
But, my dear, it would be
For
You

Guns

In 1996 my country was shook
A young man walked onto a school and took
Two nine millimetre browning HP pistols
Two wesson M19 .357 magnum revolvers
Then horribly, shockingly, eighteen lives
Of a teacher and children age six and five
And then himself, and he died, suicide
Changing the country with that single moment

I ask America if you think it's still right
To arm teachers, to look down the sights
And aim it at the killer, an ex student
To see them as a possible murderer
I ask you if you if you know you hold
The record for the most amount of deaths told
In many graphs, and each by guns
Be it school shootings, murders, terrorism

No, it wouldn't have made a difference
If this shooting was in an NRA conference
Because lives are still lost and gone away
They will never come back again
You say Israel taught and armed their teachers
And in forty four years have had two features
Of school shooting - but how can you compare yourselves to thaf
The war-torn, strict gun controlled nation

Israelis can have only one gun at a time, with mental health checks
Yes, less strict than the UK, I'll allow that respect,
But - they do not complain like you do day and night
Going on about your amendment rights
What you need to have and need to achieve
You need to stop and you need to breathe
And think of the human right to live without fear
What you force many children to do ever daty

Guns kill people, people kill people, I've heard
I do not mind living in a more socialist world
Because I feel safer having children today
Than I would have done in 1996
For the good of the many, for our sanity
Let us be together and not fake bravrity
Let us live in this era of increased pain
Sandy Hook, Parkland, Santa Fe, many more to name

The twenty second school shooting of this year
Is your second amendment worth each tear?
To you it may seem we are controlled
With incidents happening as Alfie Evans
But compared to your healthcare, child deaths
Black arrest and reoffending rates, the rest
When is it time to wake up and say
We no longer want to live in this fucked up American dream

Trina

When we were young we were something
Our lives were only limited by our imaginations
We had wings with which to fly and escape
Our frigid lives and our situations

You had your family and I had mine
Close knit in small communities
Yet still we became the closest of friends
Enveloped in each others certainties

Together we had strong faith and wit
We talked about our lives and beyond
You called me "Blenny," and you were the, "Gobi,"
We were two fishes in a great pond

The stories we were going to tell together
Ranged from the obscene to strange
But through it all we laughed and sighed
Didn't care when they called us, "deranged."

We were friends when no one else would have us
Then, when others did care, you remained
A bright star in the constellation of my life
But life never truly remains the same

Instead we grew distant as we went our ways
Our own paths diverted as did our lives
You became a world traveller, inspirational
As I became an academic and a wife

Our friends were what kept us bonded through
Though not talking, you were still in my mind
For though we never met or embraced
There was still those years of kind

After that we stood - the six of us
Upon St Andrews beaches white
The last time we were ever together
What a day it was, a glorious sight

And that memory of that day I will remember
Forever and until the end of time
For even though you are not with us, Trina
Even though you could no longer stand
The pains of every day life
Know that for you, I would have gone
To the ends of the earth

Dreamer

I'm a dreamer
Like my father

Equality gone wrong

"Should a man hit a woman if she spit on him."
A woman sits in a bar, touched the way no woman should be.
Unwanted, uncalled for, shockingly and without reserve.
Harrassment.
A man waits at a street corner, turns and mistakenly looks
At a woman's backside, breasts, lips.
Harrassment?
Then that woman, she slaps him.
Justified?
We talk about equality, like for like, measure for measure.
An endless cycle of discussion and "Time's Up" and black dresses to the Baftas.
The fists rise into the air in solidarity
People leave their jobs for the sake of gender pay equality.
But does equality mean that measure for measure should enact?
"Should a man hit a woman if she spit on him."
Yes, because if equal, then equally treated they must be.
Yes, as if you want to be the same as a man, then punished you should be.
Yes, they cry, because I'm not going to hold the door for you anymore.
I don't have to be a "gentleman". 
Don't have to offer you my jacket if it is cold.
Shouldn't be expected to pay for meals on dates.
Should not be treated as if any look is a case of harrassment.
"Should a man hit a woman if she spit on him."
...
Perhaps the woman should not spit in the first place.
Perhaps the situation should not arise.
Perhaps different questions should be asked, such as, "Why don't we all open doors for each other."
Or "lend your jacket to all out in the cold."
And "do not spit, hit, hate."
And "do not hit back, whether you are male, female, black, Asian, white, gay, straight, old, young, Hindu, Muslim, African, Austrian, blue eyed, brown eyed, an idiot, a genius, left voter, right voter, evolutionist, flat-earther ..."
Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold.
Perhaps we should never have written the recipe.