A Selection of Poetry

They murdered David Kelly in a wood – 	
		slashed his wrist
		and in his right hand pressed
	the knife – 
		down his dead throat
		poured sleeping-pills he might have bought. 
Men dressed in black, skilled and professional at their trade,
	took David Kelly’s life. 


They knew, those killers, that the ones who willed him dead
		would keep their work
		unknown and dark, 
	away from light. 
		They had no fear
		as, from afar, 
they watched the empty rituals of justice roll – 
	the machinery of deceit. 


Law of the land it’s been for centuries
		that all who die
		have one inalienable, last right
	before their body is consumed by earth or fire:
		A public inquest shall be held
		in which the facts of death are filed. 
That right for David Kelly swiftly was removed
	by one man’s power. 


Within a day the inquest was annulled. 
		The facts of the case,
		obscured, erased,
	were to be buried deep with David’s body in the earth. 
		They slowly rise
		out of the river of deceit and lies – 
facts – like the witness who saw hardly any blood 
	on him who bled to death. 


Dripping with guilt are those who did that deed.
		But greater blame
		on those who hide the crime
	and those who gave the order that a man be slayed.
		Lord Falconer
		and grinning Tony Blair – 
we don’t forget five million orphans and a million dead. 
	We don’t forget the one man in the wood. 

MB. 30/12/11