The God of metal

How interpret actions that seem mad
And how do Syrians “live” in their cruel  state
Will these missiles change the vile Assad?

It’s paranoid to see just good and bad
A mix of feelings of both love and hate
How interpret actions that seem mad?

Should we pray to God to send his flood?
The God of copper,iron and steel breastplate
Will holy missive change the cruel Assad?

Copper in the kitchen,there  it’s good
But metal’s used in weapons by the State
How interpret usage that seem mad?

If the war ends,Syria soaked in blood
Who is left to think and  to reshape?
Can any missiles educate  Assad?

When we’ve finished death,destruction,rape
What will spring up from that mute landscape?
How interpret thinking that seems mad?
No human act  can  make this world be good

The unusual life of J G Ballard



“I came to live in Shepperton in 1960. I thought: the future isn’t in the metropolitan areas of London. I want to go out to the new suburbs, near the film studios. This was the England I wanted to write about, because this was the new world that was emerging. No one in a novel by Virginia Woolf ever filled up the petrol tank of their car.” The proximity of Shepperton film studios was important. “They were why I picked this place. The entertainment medium of film is particularly tuned to the present imaginations of people at large. A lot of fiction is intensely nostalgic.”

Ballard claims that he has “always treated England as a strange fiction”. The real world, in which he was formed, was Shanghai, where he was born in 1930 and brought up as a typical privileged expatriate boy in the city’s International Settlement, without learning Chinese or tasting a morsel of native cuisine. “I didn’t have a Chinese meal until I returned to England.” In 1943, his world flipped upside down when he was incarcerated with his parents in the Lunghua detention camp. In his collection of memoirs, Miracles of Life, published earlier this year, Ballard writes that he was “largely happy” in Lunghua, finding there “a relaxed and easygoing world” that he had not known in everyday life. He claims that he thrived during his two and a half years in detention, “even when food rations fell to near zero, skin infections covered my legs, “