Alastair Buchan

She gently laps against my feet
And coats them with a saline glaze.
Her slightest pulse and softest beat
Caress the shingled shore in waves,
...

I met a hero yesterday
In silver, bronze and polished gold,
Just back from spending time away,
From doing all that he was told,
...

They said she'll never go away, they said
That even shielded from my view, she's there,
Somewhere. Forgotten, maybe, but not dead.
Waiting, circling in her visceral lair.
...

Black drives,
White pays.
Black serves,
White says.
...

Now I'm not one to voice dissent
At lukewarm food, nor unpaid rent,
But goodness grief, for pity's sake,
I've been cremated by mistake.
...

Two soldiers of The Great War rest
In their dugout, shattered after
Fights they fought at God's behest.
Underground there is no laughter.
...

...

People like you burn martyrs at the stake.
You hear them scream, inhale the putrid stench
Of justice being done. The righteous make
Their stand, while you watch seated from the bench.
...