syrian refugee camp



I had a Vision

where every city in the world

looked like Kabul;

Bombed out cities of Dust and Ghosts

where every shrouded shade is a woman.

Local Custom pours petrol

over twelve year old girls

and sets them alight. The

hideous scarring encourages

their acceptance of the Burka.


But here the only howling heard

is that of the wind

for the dogs have all been eaten.

And don’t you find it funny the way

crumbling masonry has its own

peculiar aroma

that cannot ever, it seems, be forgotten.


The Soldiers of all Nations

patrol the alleyways,

Seeking the Invisible Enemy.

They do not see the ghosts.

Or the Opium fields, the only things

still growing in the crater strewn desert.

But almost in the distance they can see

an old man on a white horse

(white robes, white beard of course)

 riding towards the jagged mountains

at the World’s Edge.

Behind him the silent poppies

nod knowingly in the fields.


Poppy fields 200 yards from Britihs Afghani base, Camp Bastion.

Poppy fields 200 yards from British Afghani base, Camp Bastion. Note camp perimeter fence in foreground.


Fault lines 4


reverend profile red

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists

AND the Church of the Universe.

“I agree that by not reading this endnote,

until it was pointed out to me,

I have implied consent to the concept

that I owe the Reverend Hellfire $45 AUS.”



~ by reverendhellfire on November 8, 2015.

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