‘To punish the oppressors of humanity is clemency;
to forgive is cruelty,’ said le Père de la Grande Terreur

And an angel of the Lord stood by them, the glory
of the Lord shone round, and they were bathed in terror

Spiders the size of bears, the waking dead, the lights
go out, something claws your arm: the terror

He was a wrist-twister, shin-kicker, a gifted smasher
of cherished things, Verlaine’s pale-eyed holy terror

Dear Mr Speaker: I hereby designate all funding for
Overseas Contingency Operations/Global War on Terror

He burns yet doesn’t flinch a muscle, doesn’t utter
a sound, unlike those who wail and circle him in terror

O say can you see by the rockets’ red glare and the bombs
bursting in air the cowardly stern of the HMS Terror

Late morning in a climate-controlled trailer a pilot
yawns, scratches his head, and resumes his armchair terror

And an angel of the sword stands by me, the glory
of the force shines round, and I am bathed in terror

Bronwyn Lea

Bronwyn Lea’s most recent collection is The Deep North: Selected poems (2013).