There are worthy victims, and then
        there are unworthy victims.
        In London, Coventry, blitzed and blackened skies,
        each bombed house a tragedy, each name, a lament.
        Each victim a cry for justice.
        Across the sea, in Dresden’s fire-lit nights,
        it was a price worth paying.
        The dead numbers in a ledger,
        unworthy of tears, anger or outrage.

        Ukrainians killed beneath missiles’ roar—
        their grief pierces, deserving of vigil and aid.
        Politicians queue to offer support,
        while arms dealers eye their chequebooks.
        Yet Palestinians, under different bombs,
        the very same righteous leaders
        tell us their suffering is somehow less.
        Their cries muted by politics,
        their pain is their own fault
        because they voted the wrong way.
        And even children must pay for the actions
        of their government.

        Is compassion so rare it must be rationed,
        like bread during famine? Should compassion
        be measured, weighed, and kept under lock and key?
        Until a committee of wise men decides who
        can be deemed fit to receive our tears.
        Yet, spilled blood knows no borders, no sides.
        Are we so brittle, our hearts so small,
       that empathy’s gift can be given to some,
       while for others, we turn away, and fall silent?

       There are no worthy, or unworthy victims.
       There are only lives lost, and broken.
      And the dead have no country but the grave.
 

WE ARE ELECTRIC

        We are all electric
        Plugged into the national grid.
        Connection is compulsory.
        It is forbidden to forbid

        separation from the whole
       of the network and its wires.
       Our wishes are not our own
       and we share collective desires

       to be more than the sum
       of our disparate parts,
       to share even the beating
       of our solitary hearts.

       Sometimes the current is
       direct and then it alternates
       any change in output
       is felt by all associates.

       For we are all electric
       linked by invisible threads
       and does not matter if
       it is real, or only in our heads.
 

WHERE IS  OUR OWAIN?

        Wales is a land where the legends grow,  
        Like the tale of Owain Glyn Dŵr, you know.  
        The hero who defied English might,  
        Who then vanished from history's sight.

        Some say Owain sleeps in a hidden cave,  
        Awaiting the hour when Wales he'll save.  
        But what if the truth's beyond our ken,  
        A story stranger than any known by men?

        Could aliens have abducted our prince?  
        Please don't shake your head or wince.  
        Little gray beings in a desperate plight  
        Could have beamed him up one cold night.

        To lead them in a rebellion in outer space  
        Against the Daleks, the foe of every race.  
        Brave Glyn Dŵr would have shattered their ranks,  
        Leading Vulcan warriors and robot tanks.

        The thought of Owain on a galactic mission  
        May sound to you pure science fiction.  
        It's unbelievable, you say, this wild scheme,  
        Yet history's full of many an unlikely dream.

        King Arthur invading Norway’s shore,  
        Or Welshmen as Israel's tribes of yore.  
        They even claim the Welsh set sail,  
        To discover America, in a recorded tale.
 
        In the land where dragons roam and bards sing,  
        The lines between truth, myths, and lies are thin.  
        So let us ponder, with our minds set free,  
        The wildest paths of possible history.

        Even now, Owain Glyn Dŵr, in realms unknown,  
        Perhaps still fights, but never alone.  
        And in the legends of Cymru's pride,  
        His spirit will always endure, far and wide.
 

Note: For those unacquainted with Welsh history, Owain Glyn Dwr was the C14th military commander who led a 15 year revolt against English rule in Cymry (Wales) and the last native-born Welshman to claim the title Prince of Wales, summon the first Welsh parliament, and build an independent Welsh church. Never captured or killed, he mysteriously disappeared in 1415. He features in Shakespeare's Henry VI

                    © 2024 Phil Knight