Laura’s Starlight

The vile scandal of child rapes in Rotherham is a horror story.
One of the survivors has written a book about this and the murder of her sister, Laura, in a so-called, honour killing.
This song lyric was inspired by one paragraph in Sarah’s book.


Laura’s Starlight

There’s a star in the night
High above all the spite
But the cause of great loss still remains.
The sun’s in the sky
And the song birds fly high
But a whole town is riven with pains.

Dark waters had hid
The dark deeds demons did
The day that dear Laura was slain.
Searchers had found
Some blood on the ground
And a shoe that bore a red stain.

Now Hope won’t elope
In the arms of despair,
There will be no surrender to fear.
The starlight so bright
Shines down its sweet light,
An Angel seems now with us here.

With strength, we shall share,
Here and everywhere,
The burdens of what must be done.
Till we set to flight
All lewd lust and spite
And justice and truth will have won.


© Trevor Morgan, June 2016



The writhing of the grieving dragon

Vikings may have attacked monasteries in retaliation for attacks on them.
Christian zealots such as Boniface had been destroying sacred groves and the Carolingians had enforced conversion with a policy of be baptised or killed, the font or the axe, across their northern borders.
This was before the first raid on Lindisfarne in 793AD.
This makes for a more interesting interpretation of events.
In my narratives I chose this theory as it makes a backdrop for ripping yarns

The writhing of the grieving dragon

“A Dragon grieved beside his nest,
His young and mate lay dead.
His tender love then failed this test;
Cold rage burned in his head.

He rode the wave on that cold sea,
Found monks on its far shore.
There seemed a sad pre-destiny
To pains that their Church bore.”

Dragon’s wrath

“The rage, the wrath, the foam, the froth,
The Dragon stormed to sea.
His Love was fragile as a Moth
And now had ceased to be.

It seemed his fate to seethe with hate,
Strike shore of other lands.
He changed then from his natural state,
So, blood now soaks the sands.

Through wrath and rage he wrote a page
Of blood-soaked history.
Why he should fade from off that stage
Might seem a mystery.

But rage and woe will make a foe
Retaliate or die.
Their ebb may then return to flow,
Events then sweep all by.”

Dragon’s Decline

The Dragon’s rage did not abate,
With him grew fat the Raven.
A love that’s twisted into hate
Could well at end turn craven.

The plunder that dark vengeance brings
Would turn from need to greed.
There’s some things may come with such stings;
At end the Dragon bleeds.

Vengeance may start momentum up,
Great mischief has begun.
Like drinking from a poison cup,
All Hope in life is done.

© Trevor Morgan, 2018

From: “Tales of the Half Dane Child”


The dragon was carved on the prow of Norse ships of war.
It is strange that in Europe the Dragon is fierce whilst in Chinese myth they are capable of being kindly to folk.

Sonnet – Turmoil of the soul

Failure and defeat can cause much torment in the mind.
What matters is how you deal with great wrongs that are done.


Sonnet – Turmoil of the soul

Now wallowing through the mire that’s left by Hopes,
False Hopes that had proclaimed life would be good.
With spirits left all trussed up as with ropes;
Sad victims of false Hopes did what they could.
For wherein is there good in futile rage?
And how in sad souls can new joys be found?
It seems the Fates have writ upon their page
And Fortitude is now what must be found.
There is no point at all in seeking strife,
No point in gestures, nor in vain pretence.
It seems that turmoil like some jagged knife
Mars souls in ways that never can make sense.
New joys may well now come from smallest things,
Like some bird that’s unseen now sweetly sings.

© Trevor Morgan, Samhain 2004

From: “Frigar’s Tale”

Battle’s heat

Tennyson wrote of the glory of war.
Wilfred Owen said he wrote of the pity of war.
Battle it seems to me brings out the best and the worst in people.


Battle’s heat

In battle’s heat the heart turns cold;
There’s joy in taking life.
It’s been the way since time of old,
Through struggle and through strife.

When locked in action most will kill;
It is so quickly done.
In combat there’s a dreadful thrill,
A demon’s sort of fun.

Excitement spurs men on to do
Such murderous deeds in war.
In all of this there’s nothing new,
It’s all been done before.

The thrill you feel when you impose
Your will upon a foe,
Or watch them twitch in their death throes
And feel the pleasure’s glow.

It matters not then at that time,
Conscience is not awake!
It’s only later that the crime
Might leave sad souls to quake.

© Trevor Morgan, 4/5/2018

Some veterans have described a sort of euphoria that possesses them in the heat of battle.
It is only later that traumatic stress may set in.

Sonnet – To Hate

A burning cold dark hate is never worth it.
To be consumed with hate even after a great wrong distorts all and makes for a wasted life.


Sonnet – To Hate

A good man may be made to seethe with hate.
The wicked live with it most of the time.
To some it seems it is their natural state,
While others sink into it past they’re prime.
It has attractions to those harmed by wrong;
It simmers in the souls of those who hurt
And to avoid its lure all must be strong,
Or it may drag weak minds down through the dirt.
A hate may burn out soon that’s seething hot.
To rage against a wrong may be all right;
Though to be turned ice cold by hate is not.
One’s over soon the other’s a slow blight.
Now hate has had a long and sure career,
No matter where you go it may be near.

© Trevor Morgan, 4/5/2018

Vengeance is mine says the Lord

Aggression is best avoided for the wronged may strike back.
Even when they do not strike back, things seems to go wrong for aggressors in the fullness of time; karma perhaps.

Vengeance is mine

Vengeance is mine says the Lord

Reeling then from such mischance,
Battered by bad circumstance,
Here I choose to languish not;
None of the wrongs may be forgot.

There will be no sad distress,
No, nor rotting bitterness.
I’ll not be a sorry sight,
Against what’s done, I choose to fight!

What if life may have turned bad.
So, what I will not feel sad.
They know what they did to me;
So, let them face their destiny.

They have chosen ways of war,
Let us give them even more.
Their ways are to wield the sword;
“Vengeance is mine”, says our good Lord.

© Trevor Morgan, 3/5/2018

From: “Tales of Alfred and Gudrum”

I had wrote these words for Alfred the Great after his defeat at Chippenham at Yule Tide in the year 877AD.
He went on to total victory five months later.

Gentle Justice!

There is a lot that is wrong in life.
Debate can seem endless.
In the USA the debate on the death sentence is ongoing.
In the UK we seem to have finished with it until another nasty crime takes place and some call for the death sentence all over again.
With terrorism, the debate continues.


Gentle Justice

Release the toxins in my vein,
Or let me loose to sin again.
It’s all the waiting that’s the strain.

Is it unusual punishment
Where all this vengeance won’t relent,
Then sent to Hell by States Hell sent.

And so, press gentle on my vein
And do be tender – give no pain;
My Ghost may visit here again!

You may not have the strongest will
To withstand ghosts who wish you ill.
So, let me go content and still.

Then let the muscles of my heart
Beat Oh, so fast, they’re off the chart.
Then fade and fail and not restart.

Let oxygen not reach my brain
Eroding all the joy and pain.
Then wait awhile with yet more strain.

This punishment’s so cruel and queer.
The last thing heard through fading ear
Are sneering guards who start to cheer.

Injecting’s thought to be “… more kind”
Than noose or bullet from behind,
Or sparks that smell of bacon rind.

Toxins make a more tidy scene,
For smells and fluids are obscene.
So, gentle justice is supreme!

© Trevor Morgan 19.9.2003

Aftermath of Action

After the storm of battle comes a horrible stillness.
This burns into the souls of some.


Aftermath of Action

Sweet sickly smelled the killing scene
Where so much rich red blood congealed.
The scene seemed intimate, serene,
As if some sacred scroll was sealed.

Until all of their blood had chilled,
He stood in shock and shook with grief.
As violently as they’d been killed
This aftermath brought no relief.

There was there now a strange bond sealed
Between soldier and his victim,
And his stained soul would hold concealed;
How killing them had altered him.

For really, he could not see why;
All these young men just had to die.

© Trevor Morgan 2015

From: “Saga of Sabah”

Whitehall and Westminster

There is much that is rotten in the heart of our nation.
I have lobbied and lost too often.
It took years to lobby to stop using agent orange as a weed killer in school playgrounds.
I lobbied for school and college educational radio stations and watched as this was denied and four groups got over 90% of all licenses issued and small community stations were forbidden to carry any advertising making them financially unviable.
[Jimmy, Richard, Ralph and Michael (a quite important man) seemed to be influential in these four groups]
This rot ought be cut out. Shame on them all.


Whitehall and Westminster

Whitehall think they know best,
Westminster think they know better.
Perversely these oafs only jest
When they say: “Write us a letter”.

Your cause may be good and be just,
Your vision so clear and so true,
But this lot will grind you to dust;
For they know they know better than you.

If you must then go lobby away,
Be persistent when they proudly sneer.
There’s one thing that may win the day
And that’s when you cause them to fear.

Fear that they’ll lose an election.
Fear the cash cow will dry up.
‘Til then you’ll face pure rejection
And who wants to drink from that cup.

Westminster is governed by pelf,
Whitehall’s like a thief in the night.
Each there only care for their self
And all seem most driven by spite.

© Trevor Morgan, 17/4/2018


I see no change for the better in our rotten system. The curse is loyalty to party.

Virtue signallers

There’s a lot of virtue chucked in your face these days.
I don’t think its a mask for villainy. It is more a mask to hide emptiness within. It signals a sad soul seeking some hope in what are at core fallacies.


Virtue signallers

Now, Smugness it has an allure.
The Self-righteous, they do as they please.
It seems that there may be no cure;
So, others are left ill at ease.

In their folly the Smug “know it all”;
Their piety is pure, puffed up pride.
Now pride may well lead to the fall:
And the chasm ahead’s gaping wide!

False virtue is signalled up front;
No substance, but such a display!
When questioned they barely can grunt
For deep thought is just not their way.

To signal great virtue is folly,
For virtue is shown in each deed.
Observing each crash, I feel jolly,
And laugh as I watch the stampede.

Oh, why must some put on a show?
Why try to be more than you are?
When ignorant just say you “Don’t know”;
For the truth can be safer by far.

© Trevor Morgan, 16/4/2018


I was present when the LibDems won Sheffield City Council after decades of Labour bullying and misrule. They had sounded so sound in their criticisms of the waste and the incompetence in opposition. The had signalled their “virtue” so well and it was all empty. I almost felt tempted to dedicate this poem to Peter Moron their bully in chief.
They then continued along the same path of incompetence, bullying and misrule and waste.
Then they were subsequently sent into oblivion and Sheffield is back to one party Labour misrule.
I am so glad I got out of town.