Grenfell Tower UK

(Picture Credit - The Independent)

Who needs terrorists?

They are redundant

When over 60 poor people

Can perish

In a raging inferno

Caused by their own council.

For years the resident action group

Were poo pooed by the authorities

With, “Don’t worry your pretty heads!”

When they warned about fire safety regulations

Being ignored

Just like them.

No sprinklers and only one fire escape

In a twenty four storey building.

Only last year the tower was refurbished

With cheap plastic cladding that’s

Banned in the USA.

Our prime minister has been accused

Of failing to show humanity

By only visiting the Emergency Services

To avoid the angry public.

All this has happened

Not in some God forsaken third world country

But in the fifth or sixth richest economy

In the world.

For sure, that all engulfing tower-fire

Has made the blood of the people

Boil.

Let’s hope this volcano does not erupt

Like the one that caused

The London Riots of 2011.

Let’s hope our administration

At all its levels

Learns something from this:

To Care for its People.

Paul Butters

The Hope Party

Before the UK Election

Those Tory Trolls slagged off

The Labour Leader

Jeremy Corbyn

Unmercifully –

Dredging up his distant past,

Turning his heroic quest for Peace in Northern Ireland

Into an act of alleged “treason”

And much more.

They painted a grim grey scene.

But like King Arthur and his gallant knights,

Corbyn unsheathed his own Excalibur:

That mighty thing called “Hope”.

He offered us all a brighter future,

Except perhaps for the greedy rich,

To sweep through the enemy ranks

Upon his horse, “Momentum”.

Once more to the breach…

And as the opinion polls swing

More and more in his favour,

Victory for Labour

Is only a matter of time.

Paul Butters

Mind

I sit here again, my laptop on my knee,

Or rather, lay back in my armchair

Next to the lounge window.

Before me lies the clutter that is

My man cave.

If I just stare I see every little item

In glorious detail.

Yet even when asleep

I swear to you

I sometimes dream of scenes

Images of tables, cities or skies

Every bit as detailed as real life.

Which begs the question:

Where exactly IS this wonderful “Mind” of mine,

That can so accurately record and reproduce

Such multi-coloured panoramas?

Is it just “in my head”

As scientists assert,

Or is it located “somewhere out there”,

Even beyond the stars?

Am I merely squatting

In this body of mine

Until the day that I pass on?

And when I do pass over

Will my soul go whizzing down

Some spiritual “connection”

Back to where my mind is based?

I say again, we may all be but cameras,

Recording films and “programmes”

For other minds

Beyond this realm.

Even for Angels.

For it’s only through US

That this marvellous universe

Is brought to life.

Paul Butters