Friday 4 April 2014


This week one poem. It was written last year. It was revealed in court that undercover policemen had been given the identities of children who had died when very young. These policemen had been ordered to infiltrate groups viewed by the government as suspicious- anti-nuclear protesters, green activists and people concerned with animal welfare. In short people like me.

You can read the latest development in this ongoing scandal here.
This poem came quite quickly. I wanted to capture the fracture picture that was [and still is emerging] emerging.


The names of dead babies
were allocated to policemen,
so they could live undercover,
sleep with suspects,
investigate certain people.
We are told this was in the national interest.

To lie in bed in the night
and wonder if your son's name
has been resurrected,
to camouflage a liar,
who spies on your neighbour.
But they will not tell you.

Shape shifting, identity eating,
they attend every meeting,
always saying the right thing.
Offering and helping,
inside they are mocking,
your dossier compiling.

Who were the suspected
and exactly what did they do
to be worth the attention and budget allocation?
Did they really imperil the state?
So many questions
you will never answer...

I would be interested to know what you make of it.

I am leaving you this week with a video by The Mountain Goats. I keep saying to myself that I will write an appreciation of the band-watch this space. Here are The Mountain Goats singing Cry For Judas.

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