Polemic. Bait. Two poems.

Polemic

I stop. Polemic doesn’t seem enough.
Just words of protest without action.
What point is there if it doesn’t
Even delay the inevitable, the
Brownshirts, the blackshirts, the
Swastika wearers and bearers
Taking over the world and
Destroying democracy?

Sometimes I feel there’s no reason
To care, but think of the lost
Generations if we don’t stand up
Against the tide of fascism, and
Am reminded of the real power
Of words. Nothing is inevitable.

R 03/04/2025 22:26 Norwich

Bait

Flank over naked sweaty flank,
She lay outside her hidden trap,
Self-appointed, self-anointed
Bait for the predators that would
Arrive with the spring warmth,
The new breeze carrying the musk
Of her ready scent to them, to
Serve her up as helpless and ripe
Prey for them to mate and devour.

There. Movement. She smiled inside,
Lubricated by her own knowledge
And appetite. A big one. Shambling,
Leaning, lean, hungry, young. As
He grabbed her and drove his need
Between her, she flashed the blade
Into his excited heart, too fast
For him to realise this first
Taste was his last, and that
His child would never know him.

R 04/04/2025 20:03 Norwich