Poems By Simon Beechinor

Listen to: The Seething City The seething city's grimy warren of cages, is journey's end for women and children trafficked to the trade for sex, day and night. To be hawked and sold beneath slavers' eyes, and passed from foul, corrupted hand to hand, to suffer their bodies’ auction in silence. I witnessed the truth of that silence. When through the barred and curtained gates of cages, reached the gaudy, perfumed and grasping hands of women, of girls and boys—of children, beckoning, cajoling me with pleading eyes, to rent and use them as I chose that night. Without custom, they’d not earn that night, but suffer behind their veil of silence. Fear betrayed their gayly painted eyes, for if they displeased the madam of the cages, she would break the spirit of those children held firm in bondage by her cruel hands. Their lives but a travesty in her hands, torn from their innocence by day and night. Who will protect those women, those children, while law and politicians stand in s

Listen to: Medevac The pilot’s voice crackles, ‘Papa Charlie, this is Kilo Lima,’ The ship’s hove to, plunging and heaving in the writhing swell, ‘ETA your helo-deck, zero three minutes. Are we clear? Over.’ I glance at the lacerated diver. The bastard’s going through hell, At last, the chopper beats towards us in the hot and humid air. ‘Roger, Kilo Lima, deck’s clear. We’ve got a damned heavy sea.’ Now I can hear the percussive drumming of the huey's rotors. ‘Copy that, Papa Charlie. It’s like goin’ into a hot LZ!’ My crew stand ready by the deck as the bird approaches, And the chopper beats above us in the hot and humid air. The wind, salt and rust from the deck whip about our faces, Beneath the rotors’ rhythmic beating, we calm the diver’s fears. We check his weeping wounds for the blood is seeping through, He’s in shock; we’ve stitched him badly. We wipe away his tears. Thank God, the chopper beats beside us in the hot and humid air. Thumbs up! We have seconds. By Christ, it’s