There are five degrees between them (Mosul, Iraq, is North of Cocoa, Florida), but down by the waterside the lush, green vegetation looks the same in both locations.

In Mosul there is plenty of Attitude: families who’ve taken refuge on the East side of the city, crossing the pontoon bridge over the River Tigris, returning to the bomb-ravaged West, determined to salvage something from their former existence.

And who could blame them if the TV or cooker they struggle back with, came from the remains of their neighbours’ home, ’stead of what’s left of their own?

On the side of the city that remains habitable, increased demand for accommodation means that landlords are doubling the rent. Beyond the boundaries, another tent city springs up – ready for refugees-in-their-own-country.

Here in the cradle of civilisation, there are children who’ve clearly seen too much and others who seem unmarked. Was it just the accident of where they happened to be, or that some families had more to fall back on, or whether the struggle to survive each day provides sufficient urgency, or if they are young enough to see themselves in the future/a future for themselves – which?

In Cocoa there is excessive Lassitude: five youths hanging out in the long grass, smoking……and filming a drowning man.

There it goes again, the little black blob of his head, up above the flat-calm surface and then down below with a spluttering cry.

Snickering and name-calling, as if the drowning man (Jamel Dunn, 31, disabled, heavily tattooed) is losing face instead of his life.

Here in the crocodile of civilisation, did you feel like gods laughing at the puny struggle of a mere mortal? And if that’s how you felt, why use the phone your filming on to dial 9-1-1?

‘Never in my life would I ever have thought we would need a law to make this happen,’ the Mayor of Cocoa said. Of course he’s correct. read more

Flicking from general election to martial law – not much more than changing a light bulb.
Sold to the United States a century ago, when Spain needed the cash.
Americanised, yet every inch the Far East.
A long line of disaffections: each generation must have its own (communist, nationalist, Islamist).
The militant group now showing allegiance to IS started out as a ‘family militia’.
Who told Islamists to look like icons of Jesus – or even take his name?
The President’s in shirtsleeves, doing the business: unusual business where there’s no counting the cost; his USP is order at any price.
Waves of civilisation crashing over these islands: Hindu-Buddhist, Islamic, Catholic. Talking about women, the head of state still speaks barbarian.
Successive breakaways and the different headgear of their respective leaders; from the outset on the lookout for the best deal with central government.
Always ready to rain – except when already raining?
Lining up to get away, thousands waiting patiently between the fire fight and the Army road block.
Normal life….to be resumed….further disruption included.

All the gold a couple could wish for
Wrapped in a handy-sized bundle, gratefully received
This summer’s day: 4 August 2016
See how it was: his mother’s pale face suffused with joy
Father (proud father) cradling the reason for completing his daily round:
Te Deum – O God, We Praise You. Not needing to get high
To get through the tedium of it, as posties have been known to do.

Odour of ordinary infused with news of his rare condition
Each moment now incensed with unusual significance
The known unknowns – how much does he see in us, how long have we got?
Holding his parents as tightly as they hold him.

They wound trees to obtain the bittersweet resin known as myrrh,
As the parents of 10-month-old Charlie Gard have been wounded
By successive court judgements going against them.
Myrrh that’s made for healing and also for embalming –
How poignant the discrepancy now all their appeals have failed.

So tender is every sight of him, each instant
Looking back to the future that might have been
Each instance looking forward to no future at all
In quickening preview of a sickening end of time.

2.

Poking out from a distraught dad’s top pocket
His boy’s cuddly monkey toy, tight-lipped grin in permanent upswing.
That monkey-face is polar (bear) opposite to the father’s fixed-down mouth-frown.

Boy can’t cuddle toy ’cos he just can’t move
A calm exterior may mask pain he feels but lacks the capacity to show
Such is the brain damage he’s suffered, we’ll never rightly know.

So here comes the judge; baroness, no less.
Mind sharp as a scalpel, she’s cutting in to the contradiction:
Medical advice versus parental instinct to prolong life at all costs.

Operation over, the hearing comes to an end.
The boy is to die – ‘dignified’; the parents may never recover.
But when the state intervenes for the sake of the child,
Humanity recuperates from natural calamity –
Or so it is claimed. read more