cre·a·tion (n) /krēˈāSHən/

1.The action or process of bringing something into existence.
2.A thing made or invented, esp. something showing artistic talent.

Creationism I

Why do dinosaurs not stomp around on the pages of Genesis?
Are we to believe that a wise, all-seeing, omnipotent being
Overlooked terrifying Tyrannosaurs, docile Diplodocus?
It is not as if they weren’t big enough.

If our holy books had blueprints
Read not like fairy tales but instruction manuals:
“Welcome to the planet Earth. You are fortunate to find yourself on a water-saturated, carboniferous rock, not too hot or cold, with the appropriate atmosphere”
Before going on to unify general relativity with quantum physics,
That would be impressive.

Instead, we are supposed to be grateful, lie prostrate
Be good, meek, mild. Turn the other cheek.
Those in charge avoid difficult questions.
Offer passive acceptance in return for the afterlife,
To better exploit our gullibility on Earth.

We are on a tiny oasis of life and beauty
In a vast, uncaring Universe.
Isn’t that enough to make you wonder?

Question, think, consider.
Weigh up the evidence,
Come to your own conclusions.
Not blind acceptance of what you have been told to believe.

Life is precious.
Make the most of it while you can.

Creationism II

I am a draughtsman, a craftsman
Choosy. Alert to resonance and timbre
Words are my chosen timber.
Lithe, mercurial, quick-witted, flexible
Shaped, honed and selected, poems perfected.
Fit snug, silky smooth, the sharpest of suits,

Details matter, when it comes to patter.
A critical eye, nose for metaphor,
Ear for rhyme, taste for design,
Honesty, truth, beauty not cant.
Nothing wrong, though, with the occasional rant:

Why ‘draughtsman’?
Why isn’t there a gender-neutral suffix
That can affix itself to a line with grace?
Not plod around on heavy boots,
Announcing its place?
Poetry isn’t patriarchy.
But draughtsperson, craftsperson, draughtsman (or woman)
Don’t exactly scan.

I am a drafter, a grafter, a crafter
Poetry is my game – to please is my aim.
I get under your skin, shake up your thoughts.
Unique, honed, carefully toned.

Then there’s the matter of performance
Delivery, presence, attitude, concordance
With formalistic rules
Made to be broken, but useful tools.

Poetry is hard when you are stuck
Or it can flow effortlessly
A river of ink that makes you think.

A new poem is the birth of a child
Mewling and puking, but hooking
You in. I am a maker, a shaper, a mover and shaker.

Words – the great leveller
Free, accessible to all.
Common property that binds us,
Holds no-one in thrall.

little red little green

If you have enjoyed my poetry on this blog, my new collection, “Little Green Poetry” is now available from Lulu – – £4+P&P (paperback) or £2.50 (for e-book readers)

You can still order copies of my first collection, “Little Red Poetry” from or – again for £4 (pb) or £2.50 (as a pdf for e-readers).

I hope you enjoy reading my poems, and, as always, all proceeds will go to help build the fightback against corporate political parties, to build a voice for the millions, not the millionaires.

To find out more about my politics, visit the website of the Committee For A Workers’ International, which is engaged in struggle in around 50 countries worldwide.

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