Wednesday, 15 October 2014

A Sonnet to Sanity

 This season of the rout of reason
Ripens the toxic fruits of faith,
 Infecting guileless children with a love of death.
 Blood stains the hands of zealots
And prompts the lips of leaders to deny the truth 
As they try to dissipate our fears with lies.
What are the hopes, of those who value death? 
Where are their smiles?
Where their laughter, or their joy
To soften the embrace
Of death’s cold love for all our brief imaginings?
 If tolerance of bad ideas infects the mind
 The winding-sheet of death becomes assured,
And all our dreams of life shall be as dust.

©James Rainsford 2014

Note to readers: Your views are welcome please use the comments tab below. Thanks for your visit.

Wednesday, 5 March 2014


There’s only now.
There’s only ever, now.

Lines can linger long upon
The printed page,
Where rage exhausts itself,
Transmitting thought
Down centuries of change
Promising a life remembered
Or, a future,
Where we transcend time.

Tempting us to live a half-imagined past,
Or dwell among uncertain dreams
Of futures filled with desperate hope.

The truth is:
Now is where we live.
There is only now.
There is only ever, now.
Now is all that ever was,
All that is,
And all which shall become.

© James Rainsford 2014

Note to readers: This poem was inspired by the words of Sam Harris. I've posted a link below for those who'd like to experience Sam's thoughts for themselves. I feel privileged to be alive to experience his intellectual honesty and liberating insights. I hope you too will find his views inspirational.


Wednesday, 1 January 2014

New Year

A Sonnet for 2014 

New hour, new day, New Year.
Dawning to the howl of wind.
Waking to the wails and tales
Of the newly dispossessed.
Arriving where religion rules,
Where fundamental fools
Decorate strange streets
With victim’s severed limbs.
Flicking switches to extinguish
Lives much worthier than theirs.
So, welcome to the coming year
Where fear will stifle truth
And youthful eyes, still full of ‘whys’
Continue to cry tears of blood.

© James Rainsford 2014

Note to readers: A very sombre poem to mark the New Year, but I couldn't help reflecting that amid all the celebratory fireworks the world was also witness to other types of pyrotechnics.  Please click on the comments tab below if you'd like to express a view.

I do wish peace and a truly happy and prosperous New Year to all who visit here.

Tuesday, 1 October 2013


Freedom’s such a fragile gift,
Bought dearly with copious blood
Of guileless youth, too young by far
To fully comprehend
The irredeemable finality of death.

It’s tragic when we know so much,
Can access with an on-screen touch
The truth of how we came to be
Yet, neither you, nor me, or anybody else,
Knows how to counter the insanity
Of the fundamental wish to subjugate us all.

How may we strive to win
This crazy contest for control?
Born from religion’s dread desire
To dominate the world.
How shall we reasonably explain
To our betrayed and unborn young
Our failure to confront this
Life denying vision of a world
Controlled by bigotry and fear?

How might we one day, finally persuade
Those who love death, to cast aside their
Terrifying certainty of faith,
And finally, embrace the freedom
Which can only come from doubt?

©James Rainsford 2011

Note to readers: This was written in response to the terrible atrocities committed due to the deluded and insane belief of some, that they know the mind of God.
Your views are very welcome and I'll try to respond to all who leave a comment. Please click on the comments tab below to have your say. Peace to all who visit here. James.

Tuesday, 27 August 2013


Without work, weeks wobble.
Leisure leaks from weekends
Infecting weekdays
With the laziness
Of Sunday’s soporific hours.
So, when you ask
“What day is it today?”
I struggle to recall.
For I,
Like you,
Have forgotten too
The shape of days,
The contour of the hour,
The power of Friday to excite
And the dread
Of Monday’s
Siren call to work.
Days become as one,
No tasks to give them form,
And each one born anew.
With absolutely nothing,
We must absolutely do.

© James Rainsford 2013

Note to readers: Your views are always welcome. I'll respond to all who visit here and leave a comment. 
Kind regards to all, James.

Monday, 19 August 2013

The Grim Reaper

 If you must come, as come you must,
Don’t come in winter and awake
The fat cat dozing by the fire.
And don’t appear in fertile spring
When birds begin to sing of love
Above new shoots of verdant grass.
Summer’s not the time to call
And is the least good time of all,
When nights are light, and loved ones
Bright with hope, can’t cope with death.
Autumn might just be OK,
Unless I’m feeling fine and well
Then it would be capricious
And suspicious if you call
When all of life’s still full of fun.
So, when all is said, and all is done,
Perhaps it’s best you do not come,
At least for many seasons still,
Until my will to live is spent
And I can welcome you with love.

© James Rainsford 2013

Note to readers: As age increases, so too,  do thoughts of my own mortality.  
Your views are always welcome and I'll respond to all who vist here and leave a comment. Kind regards, James.

Tuesday, 30 July 2013

Final Silence

there are no birds,
or flowers,
or running
hand in hand.

hopeful eyes,
once mirrored
in imagined futures
reach their final view

parched lips,
upon whose
cracking flesh
wine flowed,
laughter bubbled,
and love pressed
his brief desire
now fade.

lined hands,
once moved with gestures
touched by dreams,
claw the winding shroud
with talons of despair

I care,
for everyone who
not knowing
where the time has gone,
or why.

we die
no closer to the truth,
yet having known the
intense fragility
of ephemeral youth.

© James Rainsford 2013

Note to readers: Posted to Open Link Night at Diverse Poets. I'll respond to all who visit here and leave a comment. Kind regards to all, James.