This Story

© Photos: John Peters 2009

I could tell you that there in the dark
where the hills protrude from the black –
nobody is about, just the distant bark
of a fox, a few night birds calling,
sharp starlight bathing the treetops.
But that wouldn’t be true; the ground
is saturated with blood, with the stink
of dogma, bullets and guns.
I wonder if you would listen then,
when I tell you of unspeakable things –
of pain, the rip and tear of innocent flesh.
I have no say, just this poem,
needles of frost in my hair, this story.



Copyright 2012 Louise Hastings

Any day now the guns will start firing over the counties of Somerset and Gloucestershire, killing 70% (so they say) of the badger population in an unscientific and unpopular cull ..if you disagree with this then please take a moment to sign the petition Thank you!

A Government Recipe (For Disaster)

First pre-heat your political fervour to maximum temperature –
Introduce a badger cull, cut taxes for the rich.

Several thousand badgers (without TB)
1 row of Liberal Democrats (lightly mashed)
1 tin of evaporated sorry (for the inevitable broken pledge)
1 large dose of unemployment, debt
1 shredded NHS
1 pack of carrots chopped (for the plebs)
1 home-grown Boris Johnson (for the comic effect)
1 pile of printed money (for quantitative easing purposes)
1 large bucket of arrogance

Ensure all ingredients are well blended together – use a wooden spoon
but put aside the farmers and the animal activists – they do NOT mix.
Warning: Be sure to use heat-proofed gloves – a scalding likely.
Note: This procedure could take 5 years to complete.
In the meantime, emigrate.

by Louise Hastings

Written in response to Clarissa Dickson Wright’s assertion that we should cook badgers killed in the imminent cull The Independent
And with apologies to Ann Chance and her winning poem Hadron Collider Star Recipe published in the Poetry News 😉
On a more serious note, please sign the anti-badger cull e-petition Thank you!

A hard rain

Can you hear it?
The scent of fear on the wind,
the sound of the axe
that’s bleeding,
dripping the blood
of the local community.

They are selling off our dreams,
the ones you and I once had.
“For the public good” they said
though the politician is in hiding.

They’ve ripped out the heart
of an apathetic nation.
What’s the point in arguing?
Nobody listens anyway,

the banker sunk our boat,
we know the game is up.
What happened to those days,
the times that were a changing?


by Louise

Written for Onestoppoetry Saturday Celebration ~ Bob Dylan