Death March

Looking through

The barbed wire

He watched

The Russians

The survivors

Marched in

From the

Death march

That first time

They threw bread

Or the little food

They had

Over the barbed wire

They watched

Men fight

In the snow

And dirt brown


For the mush

They never

Threw food

Over the wire again.



The slaying of an activist

The slaying of an activist


No accusations

Of responsibility

No recriminations

No blame

Or shame

Not yet


We are all


We’ve all


To the messages

Of hate

Dressed up

As political


We’ve listened

But not objected

To the racist


Dressed up

And called


Or the hatred

Towards the poor

And those

Hanging on

To the bottom rung

That hatred

Ever present


Not even said

This move

To extremes

With people

Who should know

Much better


The fire

Of emotions

That vilify

And make

it easier

far far easier

to pick up a gun

or a blade

and kill.

But I wonder

Did it make

A difference

That she was

A woman

And small.

But she is dead

And her children


And we must all

Ask ourselves

What will we do


What will we do

So that we remember

Our complicity.





Murder of a stranger

The murder of a stranger


Out early this morning

Unable to listen to much more of the news

On the radio

Played Bach Sonatas instead


This place is not worse

Following you’re going or the way you left

It may be better

I have my doubts about it


Time will tell is the saying

But it’s the hate just below the surface

That bothers me most

The lack of compassion


I think of those two small children

And the man you loved abandoned and lost

I wish them kindness

For the present the future as well.