Category poems

of the British Museum find
in some forgotten room
an old earthenware lamp

To the apologists for genocide who choose
to walk in no-one’s shoes but their own

I have eaten
the future...

by now, of course, you’ll know
the way the day panned out

In all the stories from the funeral...

is for those politicians and journalists
who will now sing the praises
of life spent in public service

Start twenty-five years ago,
at least...

And spare a thought
for those Conservative MPs
who will stand in the House

when we finally get the keys to our kingdom– and it will be no easy thing, my brothers, my sisters,my friends, no quick and easy thing, this will be a story in itself –when we finally get the keys to…

This autumn morning
sun streaming in...

for the last time...

In which the reader is invited to consider the A-Z of charges...