Great Spotted Woodpecker,
your name should be Witwall
or something else not chosen
by that great spotty woodwit,
whoever he was.


Not Again

They keep coming,
these overbearing men,
when we least need them.

In times of anger,
out they crawl:
they seem to conquer all.

A hollowness within,
the emptiness of hate,
becomes the State.

The lesson never learned
of a tale often told
and the miseries of old.