Murder on the battlefield

I may not be with the popular mood.  I do not approve of downgrading a killing  and releasing a killer in response to popular hysteria.

 

Murder on the battlefield

They dragged that “bastard” out of sight
From those drones overhead.
The Sarge then shot him out of spite
And left that “shite” stone dead.

The Sarge was focused on that act,
Was his soul cold with Hate?
Some say that he may well have “cracked”.
This was no hand of Fate!

Far off there in Afghanistan
Where old beliefs may rule,
This does not mean each Taliban
Is just some worthless fool.

A family has lost a son
Who fought in their own land.
Yet some excuse a killing done,
Done there quite out of hand.

But who cares here about the tears
Some Afghan Mother shed?
A killer’s freed to many cheers.
A nameless man’s long dead!

© T.Morgan 28.4.2017

Liars and Perjurers

There are many, especially in public life, who tell lies wilfully and with such ease.   Politicians have gone to prison for perjury in recent years but it seems that lessons just have not been learned.

Spirals of Liars

“Three perjurers so full of glee
All sneered there at the dock
Their victim now would not be free
And fops prepared to mock

These gutless monsters sup on blood
Schemed each new enterprise
But ended mired in filth and mud
And never won the prize

Their victim then in time was free
Time fills with cloying fear
When perjurers would know no glee
Truth now lurks ever near

The winds of change are seeming strange
Old ways now sink below
Whilst Fate she seems to rearrange
As Truth brings falsehood low

Then Lies and Truth will clash head on
That one may cease to be
If Hope returns then few are wan
And some may be set free

Each artless, pointless scheming one
Finds no more glut of gore
As all is lost and none is won
New sneaks come to the fore

New perjurers will perjure then
New victims will go down
There seems a glut of wicked men
Each of such low renown”

Laura’s Starlight

This lyric was inspired by reading Sarah Wilson’s book about her experience as a survivor of Child Sexual Exploitation in Rotherham.  Her sister, Laura,  was murdered leaving Sarah to bring up Laura’s little girl.  This lyric came to me in an instant when I was reading her 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

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© Trevor Morgan

A Limerick for Lagarde

Now that Lagarde of the IMF has joined in on project Fear that is trying to scare us all into staying as a peripheral province in the European Empire of the Oligarchs. I am not moved to feel any fear.

The IMF that she runs has a track record on economic predictions. More often than not they are wrong. They did a good job with Greece and have ongoing works in progress in Portugal, Spain and Italy and have brought economic misery to lots of places in the impoverished third world. They have long been unfit for purpose.

 

A Limerick for Lagarde

The IMF has loudly now said
By leaving we will end all dead
In the past all their predictions proved wrong
Yet they harp on and sing this daft song
Poor Lagarde has gone quite off her head

The sufferings of the 96 and their kith and kin

 

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The South Yorkshire Police Force will now stand accused of Criminal Conspiracy.  This is not surprise to me.  They were rotten to the core and may they now be prosecuted for their many crimes.

Spirals of the Liars and the lies

“These perjurers so full of glee
All sneered there in the box
Their victims now would not seem free
And each fop fibs and mocks

These gutless monsters sup on blood
Schemed each new bag of lies
But ended mired in filth and mud
And never won the prize

Their victims then in time were free
And liars know cloying fear
When perjurers would lose all glee
As Truth lurks ever near

The winds of change are seeming strange
Old ways now sink below
Whilst Fate she seems to rearrange
As Truth brings falsehood low

Then Lies and Truth will clash head on
That one may cease to be
If Hope returns then few are wan
And some may be set free

Each artless, pointless scheming one
Finds no more glut of gore
As all is lost and none is won
New sneaks may come to fore

New perjurers will perjure then
New victims may go down
There seems a glut of wicked men
Each of such low renown”

© Trevor Morgan 2016

Suicide Bombers’ Song

It is an English habit to laugh at a threat.  So I wrote these lyrics to Glenn Miller’s tune “Don’t sit under the apple tree”.

 

Suicide bombers’ song

I won’t strap on a cemtex pack
For anyone else but you
anyone else but you
anyone else but you
I won’t strap on a cemtex pack
for anyone else but you
So we can be together

So won’t you come and sit with us
Here on this crowded bus
on this crowded bus
on this crowded bus
So won’t you come and sit with us
Here on this crowded bus
And take a trip with us

I’ve switched my fuse so come with me
And we’ll disintegrate
we’ll disintegrate
we’ll disintegrate
I’ve switched my fuse so come with me
And we’ll disintegrate
into ten million bits

Yes we will fly across the sky
In small fragmented bits
small fragmented bits
small fragmented bits
Yes we will fly across the sky
In small fragmented bits
Now you’ve come close to me

Together we fly across the sky
At high velocity
high velocity
high velocity
Together we fly across the sky
At high velocity
And splash the passers by

How can you say that I’m no fun
When I go with a BANG
I go with a BANG
I go with a BANG
How can you say that I’m no fun
When I go with a BANG
And take you out with me.

BANG

 

 

 

Gentle Justice

I never did much like the death penalty. Our system of trials are such that the Innocent can be found guilty and the Guilty found innocent

 

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 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

Wondrous World!

My, we can be led a merry dance when trying to get the simplest of things, like an honest answer, from any of those shits who are in office.

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Wondrous world!

But all are led a merry dance
Through all the scenes of circumstance
And there’s so much that’s done by chance

The world’s a wondrous place for those
Who are not led out by the nose
And there’s no thorn upon the rose

But most of us who have been born
Will get our hands so badly torn
And get no rose just grab the thorn

The Fates it seems, to take their ease
Will drive Hope down upon its knees
And leave the poor out doors to freeze

The way it seems events pan out
In such a way that there’s no doubt
In life most face a brutal rout

Feathers ruffled

I wrote this on 21 September 2001 at the Falconry centre on the Isle of Mull I was watching a display but my mind was elsewhere. It was a sad time.

 

Feathers Ruffled

Bald eagle with a damaged wing
Hawks guided in as planned
We hear a carrion vulture sing
Where dead flesh is at hand

Bald eagle has small feathers harmed
Hawks dead upon the ground
The vulture’s kind now cower alarmed
The eagle makes no sound

The vulture hides deep in a hole
From justice that is planned
Yet in his dark deceitful soul
He thinks he is God’s hand

Some time from out the sun’s stark rays
We’ll hear the vulture’s dead
And where the well fed eaglet plays
The ground is coloured red

 

21 September 2001

 

Fundemental nonsense

Debate can be a waste of breath

Fundamentalists

Now fundamental Zealots will
Cause folly and cause shocks.
Believing in creation still
They argue with old rocks.

They say all fossils have been formed
In just ten thousand years.
As well as methods too unsound;
They’ve stuffed wax in their ears.

All fossils in the rock and mud,
Those dinosaurs and birds,
Were caused by only that one flood;
They won’t be swayed by words.

Geologists should all beware
Religious zeal and ire.
Zealots with their glassy stare
May burn them in a fire!

© Trevor Morgan 17 October 2003