Three Days In One

Three poems. Been away. Have come back. Caught up. Writing.

His Master’s

That the war was started by his Russian master
Is a truth which the orange man in the suit
With the far too long red tie, and the sleeves his
Small hands are barely visible from, cannot even
Contemplate. It’s all the fault of those others
Who wear no suits, and won’t listen to his
Words of new American wisdom,. It’s the centre
That’s the threat, he says, those nasty people
Who want equality and peace and true wisdom.
His master’s enigmatic Cyrillic smile is
This man’s salvation, the salve on all the
Wounds he’s being forced to carry by the
Ungrateful world, as he hammers himself to
The cross of his convictions and hatreds.

R 18/04/2025 13:39 Norwich

Our Friendships

Time and place compress
Where the past lives side by side
With what is now, and our hopes
For living in the home town again
Are already rubble or a favourite
Pub turned into flats, and
Common ground what has
Hugged close those who stayed,
And spurred on others who chose
To leave and build new things
Differently. The happiness in
Those opposite choices is not
Weighted, exploration no more
Valuable than staying put.
And in that light, our deep
Friendships never dim, nor
Ever will.

R 19/04/2025 23:39 Doncaster

Pareto Got It Wrong

Pareto got it wrong with his
Eighty-twenty, that ratio that
Was a cornerstone of modern
Management taught to countless
Master of Business Administration
Who went on to mismanage
Businesses and other people’s
Lives. One percent of the world’s
Inhabitants now owns ninety
Percent of its resources, and
That one percent continues to
Fan the flames of inequality and
Class conflict.

R 20/04/2025 18:45 Norwich