Now at least there's no rats left here in Marcoule.
It's getting hard to tell who is the bigger fool;

we Brits who left Blighty in search of the sun,
the politicians making sure their deal is done.

I heard them say there's no reactor here;
no leaks, all under control, nothing to fear.

But folly is folly, however they try to dress it;
if it can go wrong, it will – get used to it!

Yes, fission might be feasible, even squeaky clean
but those in the money are nowhere to be seen.

© David Francis Barker

France nuclear: Marcoule site explosion kills one
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David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

If you are going, go now; let's not prolong the pain
or pretend that the past means nothing at all.
Oh, I know – go back fifty years and MacMillan
could count on fifty percent, even up there.
But then came the oil, that all too English woman
branding herself British while handbagging the North
and the Left wherever they raised their ruddy heads.
Even I realised you'd had enough by then.
So go with my blessing and I'll reclaim the baggage;
you know it won't go to waste. We'll recycle it down here
where they still fall for it each time in our leafy shires,
so prime for development – but that's another tale.

© David Francis Barker

Scottish Tory leadership favourite 'to split party'
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David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

He's got a gun
He's got a gun a guitar
and a hair cut like Che
He thrusts up defiant v-signs
at streaking vapour trails
the evidence of an enemy he's yet to meet
He's got a gun eye to eye

All the same he unloads his weapon
He's got a gun into the no-fly zone
He's waving it on high
at this illusive foe
singing songs like a Dylan or Baez
and wishing on stars above
He's got a gun the scarlet stripes of the horizon

Tomorrow he's the hero
He's got a gun He can sense
the smell of change
which wafts in his stubbled face
this monster of cool
arraigned against a monster unseen
He's got a gun who has made him all he is

© David Francis Barker

Massoud Abu Assir
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David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

The last time I looked,
there was no I in debt.
Default isn't anyone's fault.
The I of irony is much more telling:
Where democracy was first wrought
in ancient Athens' crucible,
there's now a furnace for the Euro.
The meltdown that makes Merkel
wish for the Deutschmark,
makes Sarkozy cosy up
to the Franc of his dreams.
But who dares pull the ace
from this temple of cards?
And should America say 'no dice',
then whose turn is it to throw?
It would be to our credit
to put the I back into debt.

© David Francis Barker

Eurozone leaders warned over seriousness of Greek debt
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David Francis Barker: 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

He shouts the name of Bannockburn
whereas I go on about Flodden

He praises that film about Wallace
(the one which I thought was rotten).

And while I tell tales of King Harold
he drinks for the Bonnie Prince

We were both losers, I assured him –
though he's not so easy to convince

© David Francis Barker

Nearly half of English oppose Scottish independence - poll
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David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

A TV picture shows there's not a leaf on the tree,
with only tears falling as drops on the land.
This merciless world is the giver and the taker,
above all life, but do we ever understand?

Each day is a struggle, whoever we are;
to find a job, sometimes to park your car!
But it all pales to nothing if the rains don't come.
The trivial is essential under the searing sun.

The girl's sunken eyes reach us deep inside,
the deepest language we all comprehend;
where the rivers of belief dry up like the soil,
to wither the cause of conflict – to make war end.

© David Francis Barker

Somalia Islamists lift aid ban to help drought victims
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David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

A faceless Buddha stares out into nothing
his features rubbed out by wiser men
He and this bare brown earth

bear witness to the vicissitudes of empires
which every now and then
bring in a hundred thousand men

led by swanky generals
full of ideas and strategies
who invariably leave clueless or dead

beaten by voices on the wind
that rages through ravines
and around strange shapes

in the looming terrain
a landscape which consumes them
absorbing something from the invader

before belching them out
to kick him along the silken road
full of substances –

yet empty of all substance
Just like the bodhisattva
sitting captive in Kabul museum

once a saviour
now unable to save himself.

© David Francis Barker 2011

Will UK troops follow US out of Afghanistan?

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David Francis Barker: 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.' francisbarkerart.wordpress.com

Walk with me
into the grey breaking dawn

where that sticking ridge of blue –
an English blue

rolls on into soft distances
and strange dancing names

Stand with me
by those set whispering stones

in a steadfast line –
a sore English line

of rasping pipes and howling socks
mouthing our memory

like a warning to tomorrow
a land forlorn to all but itself

Then help me to bury him
not on some crying strand –

in firm English land
where hallows' calls are grounded

our grief laid open
in the whitening bones of heroes

on this high scoured hill


© David Francis Barker 2011

Arrests at Stonehenge summer solstice celebration
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David Francis Barker: 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.' francisbarkerart.wordpress.com
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Editor's note: Those who witness the sun rise on the longest day, at Stonehenge, often experience an overwhelming sense of being connected to nature by ancient rite. Each year, it seems, more non-pagans are taking an interest in pagan beliefs.