Refugee Children (www.amnesty.org)	Aliens and Migrants When I first arrived in Norway (as a legal, EU-citizen, cross-border worker), I had to report to the Alien Registration Centre. It seemed a strange use of words, but I had to admit I was technically an "alien."  Since then terms for migrants, refugees, and asylum-seekers have proliferated – illegals, invisibles, itinerants, down-and-outs, camp residents and the undocumented.  More than 1 million migrants and refugees crossed into Europe in 2015. Globally there are currently 68 million people forcebly displaced (UNHCR figures). Sadly, many of these aliens have not been treated with dignity or access to basic human rights. Over half of the world's refugees are children. The poem the 'Hope'  finds 'somthing little' within the modern seas of despair, while 'African Viking' tells the tale of migration and survival. In a cosmic and long-term perspective, all human beings are migrants and aliens. 'Newcomers' was inspired by the birth of our first daughter in our newly adopted land, but is really a tribute to the value added by new arrivals of all kinds. The sonnet 'Miriam's Tale' is based on that most ancient account of the rescue of a child refugee. Hope you are inspired this collection.
Puffin, Iceland   Hope There is little to be said for hope and self-belief when madness, stupidity and despair are shouting in from everywhere The odds are overwhelmingly stacked against hope and a belief in goodness when greed, vindictiveness and theft are piling in from right and left Who can possibly stand up for hope and a slightly better future when the world-wide-web of propaganda wars are invading upon every shore? How can the next generation express their hopes for a world that is true when past generations have messed it all up leaving only trash to clear up? Where on Earth is hope headed? In God's name, where is it going? There is so little to be said for hope when it cannot find a pathway. But hope is a tiny thing Hope is a little child Who thinks only of the future. Hope isn't anything unless it dreams and dreams and dreams of a world with better things.
African Viking (From the Iceland sagas of 2015) Sand up the arse, grit in the teeth Salted eyes and water-logged legs, Leif hauled himself through the breakers And onto the sandy beach. King Olav had given his blessing But battle and strife were the truer reasons. A new world beckoned with beer, bread and honey And, as they hoped, with return of bounty. The transit camp at Smoky Bay (Royke-vik the locals called it) Had taught him a lot – lie low, stay hidden But pounce like a lion when the bait is bidding. The voyage had been tough, fearful and long. Other ships had been lost in the storms of Vidar, Thunder and his crew had been dragged from the cauldron, But with the luck of Leif they had battled on. And the new land looked good – green hills and forests Game for hunting, fresh fruits and good lodgings. Strange birds, familiar fish and some unusual beasts Gave spell to the adventure and excuse for a feast. Was Louisa well, would he see her again? Would Erik be disappointed or proud of this venture? These were the questions that filled the dark hours While the threat of the natives was a persistent cloud. Suddenly from nowhere the forces descended Shots were fired and missiles flew past; Run, hide, then fight, was his inbuilt instinct; Cunning and fitness helped them survive. So, we are not welcome – let’s move up the coast Back to the familiar settlement of the meadows, With songs of the homeland and warm happy voices With fellows and travellers who share their resources. This then is the tale of the settler’s camp and this is the story of the perilous journey. This is the man who held out his chin, Who struggled and made it when others gave in.	Ice line - East Greenland, 2005 (Photo Philip Ringrose)
Reconstructed Long Boat at L'anse aux Meadows, Newfoundland   Newcomers   When you came, you came surfing on the tops of the waves from the squalls and storms, tossed between opposing shores of many nations.   When you came, you came melting the snows and the ices from the chilling of relations from the freeze of each successive generation.   When you came, you came crying at the silence and the hardness of the stones within our hearts to the hunger in the bellies of those in desperation.   When you came, you came smiling at the frowns in the crowns of the men who pay the wages of the poor who work in quite ridiculous situations.   When you came, you came curling round our fingers that were pointing straightwards and outwards to turn them inwards to point at our imaginations.   When you came it was freshness and forgiveness that was born, thank God.   And when we go its only staleness and resentment that will die, thank God.
Miriam's Tale My trust was as buoyant as the water-borne basket, when the pitch of your love had so fully filled between the wicker weave, which was as sure as the brother who had brought the branches for the twist. The smile which I threw as I cast him on the water, the breast  that was his only moments ago and the band that held the swathes which secured him tight, led my trust still further – a familiar bed  was made. The gentle rocking motion and lapping of the waves could never have prepared him for the tide that bore him down. Dead were the hopes of those that went before him; bloody was the ditch where the corpses lay; incomprehensible was the evil which decreed his birth was punishable by disgorging death. But trust I had as my only right – as child of the hopeless, trust I must. Then hope was saved as the royal lady bathed; with a gentle kiss she raised his head, as “Moses”, called me and said “Care for this.”	Moses saved from the water Nicolas Poussin, 1638