I have never tried to write a topical poem, always seemed a bit naff - a sort of poetry in 'Motion' so to speak. However, prompted by a disturbing picture from Portugal during the week which some of you may have seen here's a first ever crack......


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The bears are safely in their cages
with calm unbated breath.
Like one-fingered typists
the cockerels tap their way
to a safe but certain death.
The fighting dogs once bred to rip and kill
lumber to their spoonfed bowls
and eat their pampered fill.
Hawks and falcons scratch a meagre living
while the gibbet rattles empty
up on Tower Hill.
These atavistic rituals
of blood, and hate, and death
have passed into remembrance
unmissed, unmourned but not forgotten.
Undimmed, the feelings are still realised
the brotherhood of hate has just got organised.
The laager-fuelled, throb-veined face
spits a toxic, manic scream
through the global window of our world.
We watch in shameful fascination,
tut tut and wring our hands.
We wonder how and why and when
the needy, helpless innocence
of trusting little boys
found brotherhood in marauding bands.

The bears, the cocks, the fighting dogs
birds of prey and gallows men
can rest easy one and all.
What need have we of their services
when men with pride, become the beasts
their new excuse for thin-veiled self contempt
a simple little game……..football.