Welcome to Fen Creative Poetry
I have written a range of poetry, which has been published in various magazines and anthologies.
Each month, a different poem from Fen Creative will be loaded:
This month's poem was written as a song lyric in 2000 after two Leeds United fans - Christopher Loftus and Kevin Speight - were murdered in Istanbul before Leeds United's UEFA Cup semi-final, first leg against Galatasaray. They went to watch a football match and never came home. Today (April 5th 2010) marked the tenth anniversary of that dreadful day.
Poem of the month
April 5th
A young boy waves his Daddy goodbye
As his little sister begins to cry.
Mummy takes them home for something nice for tea;
Just another northern family you see…
And the trains are packed with banners and flags
While the proudest travellers are dressed in rags,
As they cross the sea to where east meets west,
To ‘come home safely’ was a last request…
From the Cradle of Christianity
To the grave of inhumanity.
The flag of freedom was raised again
And burned for reasons I can’t explain.
But all I know…is that
They’re not coming home.
Adventure drawing nearer: they can hardly wait
But even now they’re gathering at the gate,
To wait for news from far away
Of dirt and squalor from the place where they’ll stay…
The food is lousy and covered in flies
And the heat’s so bad that the leaders tell lies,
Pretending there’s no sign of trouble ahead,
All resting peacefully in their beds…
From the Cradle of Christianity
To the grave of inhumanity.
The flag of freedom was raised again
And burned for reasons I can’t explain.
But all I know…is that
They’re not coming home.
Shots in the dark and the hint of steel
Goalposts moving; this game’s for real.
Running through the streets, heads covered in blood,
They’d have escaped if only they could…
Wounds that no magic sponge can repair
Detached viewers with diplomatic airs.
The flag is raised but ‘play goes on’
Tell me, how could we have got it so wrong?
From the Cradle of Christianity.
To the grave of inhumanity
The flag of freedom was raised again
And burned for reasons I can’t explain.
But all I know…is that
They’re not coming home.
As the mists begin to clear over faraway hills
Her tears soak the last of the daffodils
And when the sun finally comes out to play
All of the heroes have been washed away…
She rages at the streets, so dull and drab,
While he remains silent on a freezing slab.
Hollow words – she can see through the bunting -
The trap’s been sprung: the fox has gone hunting…
From the Cradle of Christianity.
To the grave of inhumanity
The flag of freedom was raised again
And burned for reasons I can’t explain.
But all I know…is that
They’re not coming home.
The suits still need to sell this sporting life
But the order’s been cancelled by his desperate wife.
The glorious march became a meaningless crawl
The day that the piper came to call…
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
He didn’t fear darkness, he’d been taught to trust,
And the young boy whispers his Daddy ‘goodbye’
As his little sister begins to cry…
From the Cradle of Christianity.
To the grave of inhumanity
The flag of freedom was raised again
And burned for reasons I can’t explain.
But all I know…is that
They’re not coming home.
Contact
You can contact me at any time on fencreative@yahoo.co.uk
| 
