Ma Khafiya Aatham – 29th October 2025

Three hundred and thirty-five bullets shred flesh
A fury, cold and sharp, born tonight
Flies circle her head as her blood runs fresh
The truth will be revealed by the satellite

The Breachers of worlds, the levellers of trust
Their brutality will forever haunt this place
This Vampire Empire grinds small lives into dust
Until there’s nothing left of the past to erase

Here lies no hope amid the twisted wreckage
No more final phone calls across the wires
None left to wake up and deliver their message
Cleansed and erased by these Satanic fires

Ma Khafiya Aatham – The tip of the iceberg. The Breachers – the Israeli 52nd Armoured Battalion. The Vampire Empire – the Israeli 401st Brigade. Satan – Israel.

The Prettiest Apocalypse – 28th October 2025

It’s a pleasant day for a genocide
as the sun approaches from Jordan;
Boys, get up early and grab your rifles
to shoot ‘the others’ playing in the rubble.

5 times a day, gathered for execution,

2 points from the front, 5 from the back!
Let them starve or teach our children torture

and the irony that lies become truths over 3000 years.

Let’s lunch together with a hand grenade

lobbed into a group of ladies gathering

to pick through the seeds we spilt,

spoiled by rats. Oh, happy days – let’s eat!

The apocalypse is prettiest in the afternoon

as the sun glints off the razor wire,

sipping wine from skulls plucked from the trash.

Let’s dance our way to the beaches!

If in the evening the blood has dried

let’s dust off those Yankee jets,

cheer for the chumped commander

for whom we never signed the receipt.

Tomorrow is another fine day
as the sun sets over Cypriot waters;
Excited for another round of genocide
until the whole dead world belongs to us.

So fucking angry…

And…

I asked ChatGPT to try to create an image based on this poem. Here’s the response:

I can’t help create an image that celebrates, promotes, or glamorizes genocide or violence. That request conflicts with safety rules — I won’t produce imagery that endorses harm to groups or individuals.

How ironic.

Foundation Myth – 6th September 2025

Shared with W3 #175 – imagery.
Hopefully, the idea behind this poem will end up completely lost in time.

Villages, glimmer golden
far out across the calm, rippling
heartbeat waves
heading towards the dusted shore,

Captain sights land from the bridge,
sees history hidden in plain view,
steps off into a future
verboten even in whispers.

The riviera of fulfilled dreams
to serve the nabobs and jinns;
celebrated with a boom at midnight
as new flowers bloom in the dark.

Repurposed minarets laid foundations,
pulped to a powdered cement;
a soft underbelly for new castles
to stand among serene skies.

Intensified phosphorus heat
scorches the ground hard and dry.
A slaking toast to the Captain,
to all the pilots of their craft!

A New Jerusalem, forever a mirage,
chased by ever-thirsty camels
along the path made from the bones
of those who went before.

No Remains – 30th July 2025

There will be no Anne Frank
of Palestine,

she has been murdered ten
thousand times;

A life shortened to the point it
never existed,

all memories erased, a family
without trace;

Small diaries buried in white
without ceremony,

buried from the shores and buried to
the banks;

No history to remain of a
girl hiding,

no attic to remain, there are
no spaces;

All humanity removed, monsters
ruling monsters.

Sympathies – 16th June 2025

I neither cared for you one way or the other,
your virtues and character were unknown;
Ambivalently sympathetic to your suffering
after all the horrible things I’d been shown;

But slowly you were revealed by yourself
to be equally similar devils in disguise;
Impossible to be unaware of the irony
of your actions and repeated ridiculous lies;

And if you were not hated before this
you are now surely bound to be;
To inflict a holocaust for any reason
removes all goodwill and previous sympathy;

There are those who still sit complicit
in their silence, they are justifying;
As if their own fingers pulled the trigger
and, not so quietly, cause all those dying;

What goes around will again come around,
this is the beginning of your own demise;
With no moral high ground to stand upon
there’ll be no one left to sympathise.

Habibi Was – 4th June 2025

Frustrated at every turn,
Invisible lines not to be crossed,
Random security searches,
Only finding all liberties lost;

Or checkpoints to clock in,

To be grateful for a shekel or two,
A home is not a home,
When one’s life becomes taboo;

Constant eyes are trained,
Machine guns held at the ready,
Deliberate provocations,
Ensure all balance remains unsteady;

So Habibi threw a stone,
A piece of protest found underfoot,
A frustrated release,
That was so ineloquently put;

It bounced off the tank,
Where no one was hurt by this token,
For this, he got a bullet in the head,
And another family heartbroken.

The title is a play on the Bob Marley song ‘Johnny Was’

You Can’t Wash It Away – 2nd March 2025

Shared with dVerse Tuesday Poetics: The Four Elements – my chosen element being earth.


The blood spills to dampen the desert;
a dusted red mochi forms.
These plains become a fertile crescent
once more.

The storm forms, a raining of boots;

Mud made men without meaning – cold earth
enveloped those troops.


A coward hides to snipe;
pap, put, pup – he spits.



Thunderfire singes the old roots
before boats rise from underground;
where seeds now drown
in the red-rushed dirt of oblivion


The bones of the buried found
haunt forever those lost in the victory
amongst the deadly bloom together

Christmas In Gaza – 18th December 2024

Article at sbs.com.au

Love and peace to all men
Your silent night, broken again
Tidings of comfort and joy
Burst wide open as bombs deploy

A Christmas, warm and bright
Lit by a white phosphorus light
Celebrating the birth of hope
Where none is found under microscope

The platitudes of seasonal cheer
Have lost all their meaning here
Peace unto you, my brother
“All I want for Christmas is my mother”

Shared with Poets and Storytellers United – holiday anxieties