Comments about Anthony Dawson
Your shanty sits on a hill,
above filth below will.
Shanty of tin and nail,
Corrugated heat traps,
social gaps no halfway scale,
zero then one hundred.
Big bellied little children,
forever interned in the poorest herd.
Your shanty is fact,
not to the many turned backs which look out of the skyscrapers.
So proud to confront the plague of bullets
Enter the mouth of Hades
Armed with eyes of fear, bayonet,
Hatred of the stench filled ground, A heart beating in unison with machine guns
the corpses cry from no-mans land:
'The blood you drink is testament to lunacy';
The message drowned by the barrage of doom,