Park Bench Tales and other writings

Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist


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Magical Forest

Magical Forest

Oak’s canopy of green holds up the sky

Pierced by shafts of sunlight falling down

Illuminating the floor of moss-covered rocks

As fungal tables and chairs rise from underground

Upon moonlit nights such a scene comes alive

Fairies flutter from the sky to dance

Elves emerge from homes deep beneath roots

Goblins strut out from the undergrowth

How easily such forms escape the eye

Invisible to those who do not believe

Here in this ice-carved valley I stand

Among glacial erratics that litter the floor

Human forms ascend the rocks in day

Leaving the magical scene to others as dusk falls

Deep down below a tapping in the mines

Where rich veins hold their mineral store

Glow worms in banks then decorate a scene

As scent within the air diffuses and attracts

Moths guided through the night to meet

As old wart upon a path slowly crawls

See now as fairies dance the ring

Listen to sweet voices as elves sing

Yet when morning comes they have gone

Leaving no trace except for those who believe

Copyright: David Hopcroft January 2026


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On the edge: The Traffickers

On the edge: The Traffickers

She handed over the dollars to a stranger

For the promise of safe passage for a daughter

Minutes later a ten year old was in the truck

Sneaking past checkpoints head bowed low

Trying to shield her face from cutting sand

Ursula felt brave and full of hope

Her mother had told tales of a paradise

There would always be food upon the table

Ursula would be welcome and go to school

So much better than carrying water for miles

A future that her mother could never have

Would Ursula become a nurse even a doctor

The truck rumbled forward into a desert

Ursula huddled in the back with poor food

Then herded into a room at an unknown port

Waiting for a night when the craft would sail

Walking over mud banks then on board

Out of the watchful eyes of the patrols

Bobbing upon the water in the flimsy craft

A safe passage one of few to succeed

Landing then lined up in a warehouse

Where Ursula was selected for her task

To satisfy the demands of the predators

In the homes of white men out of sight

Copyright: David Hopcroft January 2026


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We are one but many

We are one but many

I walked the road determined and convinced

Wondering what this particular day would hold

I became ware of another walking by my side

With a smile asked me about my destination

I responded that it was my duty to march

They asked for a reason for my intention

I said I marched for freedom and equality

To stand against oppression and discrimination

To stand for the asylum seeker in their quest

To stand for women and their right to choose

So many causes that I wished to follow

All were part of that grand idea of liberty

They smiled and asked could they walk with me

We walked a little further and met another

Passing the time of day on the lawn

He inquired of our purpose and destination

Then joined us because he felt the same

Then we came along a lady hanging washing

Who wondered why we marched along the way

Our purpose struck a chord now we were four

And every mile we walked we added more

Very soon we became a column waving banners

Mocked by some but joined by many

We were the wave of change nobody could ignore

We are one but we are many marching on

Towards a destination where all are equal

Sharing in responsibility as we walk each mile

I see hope hope and opportunity in each smile

Our belief in humanity will be our guide

The destination was to be a central square

Journeys that had led a hundred thousand there

Yet each had started out along the road alone

Now it felt as if we all were coming home

The hooded figures with guns stood in our way

Convinced we were terrorists who should never exist

Until thousands became a million then they turned and ran

Copyright: David Hopcroft January 2026


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Autumn Chill

Autumn Chill

Helios now struggles to rise in the sky

Peeping over the horizon for our eyes

Remembering ancestors who placed stones

Aligned as they watched the summer die

Cold days ahead deter a desire to rise

The chill being felt in these old bones

There’s a purpose to the chill in the air

Though it sends shivers down my spine

A value in this steady shortening of days

When nature can rest and carry out repair

Recovery that has evolved with a design

To plan emergence from dark damp days

The changing colours as leaves fall

Drifting to a carpet upon the forest floor

Blown then by winds to form a sea

Fading from decay as winter makes a call

The chill meanwhile opens another door

Nutrients recycled for nature’s necessity

The chill also an awakening for all

To survive the ice blast we store and share

A time for each of us to show goodwill

So listen out for your neighbour’s call

Your pantry may be full but theirs is bare

Show them love and kindness in the chill

Copyright: David Hopcroft January 2026


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Chuckling Goat

The Chuckling Goat

I walked along the lane and became confused

Had I been the fool or had I been abused

Promises made so easily it seemed

Like the relationships that I had dreamed

Sometimes a lump seemed stuck in my throat

Which was my first meeting with the chuckling goat

Her face peering through a hedge eating leaves

Mocking as if the message was that she deceives

I wanted to convince myself it was a lie

Believing that I knew our love would not die

From behind the hedge came a great guffaw

Still mocking and I knew more was in store

My mind was saying I’d been taken for a ride

The goat nodding as she padded by my side

I had been stupid and I’d broken my first rule

The goat confirmed that I’d been the fool

I wish now that I had left her love alone

Now I had discovered a heart made of stone

Something inside of me was generating rage

The chuckling goat watched me strut my stage

Then I got a message from her on my phone

She was telling me that she was all alone

As I put on my new image of a sympathetic cloak

I heard a roar of laughter from the chuckling goat

Copyright: David Hopcroft January 2026


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False Prophets

False Prophets

They lived quietly in huts and villages

In the shanty shacks outside of town

In run down tenements in slum cities

Under the thumb of a dictator

Whose position was upheld by thugs

Who pretended to uphold a law

The people often prayed for change

Pleaded with others to come and help

Until the terror arrived in the night

A devil wreaking havoc in the dark

Raging fires began to light up the sky

Explosions rocked the tenements

Families ran for shelter in their fear

The intruder spewed threats of more

A new dictator had now arrived

Whose power was upheld by thugs

Who pretended to uphold a law

Would anything really change

The intruder began to destroy the land

Claimed resources had been stolen

Wealth flowed out to oligarchs overseas

The old lies were resurrected once more

False claims of benefits of colonisation

As they proceeded to rape the country

Copyright: David Hopcroft January


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The rich man in the castle

The rich man in the castle

Feasts laid out upon tables for the rich

Wealth now replacing titled nobles

There are still crumbs dropping from the table

For the elderly disabled and the poor

Medieval pictures are being repainted

Across screens in every family home

The feasts now portrayed as necessary

To attract investors to the nation

Titled nobles replaced by oligarchs

Freed from a heavy burden of taxation

Bringing wealth so it is claimed

By trickle down economics

The crumbs relabelled as benefits

Where recipients must be thankful

Scrutinised by an army of servants

To ensure the rich are not deprived

Of a single penny from the profits

Destined for tax havens overseas

Castles are now homes on private islands

Horses replaced by luxury yachts and jets

Fortunes built on the backs of workers

So little has really altered

The poor and humble still bear the cost

Copyright: David Hopcroft January 2026


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The Halls of the Forgotten

The Halls of the Forgotten

Peacocks and hens strutting around in superiority

As if the challenge of our presence was an insult

Wandering between picnic tables seeking crumbs

Becoming braver by the minute and closer

I sense my cornetto ice cream has been espied

Their diet now extends beyond seeds and corn

In the background are the remains of a hall

The magnificence in stone is now a ghost in ruins

Names are to be found in the history of wealth

Though how the fortunes changed is mystery

Now only the skeleton of a stately home remains

The Italian influences show around the stone

Holding the secrets of more glorious times

A hall where nobles once sat and feasted

Lies cold and bare the tapestries are gone

No more shall minstrels play upon their lutes

The long gallery where her ladyship did walk

Now open to the heavens only the walls remain

Rooms ravaged by the storms over years

Ceilings collapsed with plaster strewn on floors

Windows that survived covered with dirt

An aged beauty decaying from lack of love

Beyond the hall keen eyes can search

To see the foundations of the village

Removed because an owner disliked the view

These sites that draw me to them each year

To see the glimpse of a past preserved

Stone and mortar are the memory we have

But hidden within the walls are stories untold

The lives of those in the halls of the forgotten

Whose tales would surely add interest to the scene

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2025


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Images in Dreams

Images in Dreams

The halo that shone above the outstretched hand

Which held an elusive key to their innermost desires

The locked box floating upon the waters of discontent

Always just out of reach and seemingly untouched

Carrying the mystery of the contents still unseen

Which might yet hold the further dreams of hopes

Or perchance release the nightmares that you dread

The door left ajar for the inquisitive mind to follow

Upon the handle a note unsigned may be an invitation

Through there might lie beyond both paradise and hell

Two visions merging in the blackness of night

As the incoming tide meets the river of imagination

Floating beyond the real like Rhiannon’s steed

In the ocean of imagination where all is held

Anchored at the harbour sails ready for a journey

For the unknown journey upon uncharted seas

Where tempests and thunder await the unprepared

Poseidon will seek out the weak and feeble-minded

With fog that shrouds the ghost ships of passers-by

To end by being becalmed in the doldrums of sleep

Still seeking out a direction for the misted mind

Sleep where the hope that lasting love may be found

Sleep on for the quiet peace that comes with rest

A sleep that will store the memories of the day

Let dreams be forgotten in our quest this night

Lest by their appearance they bring a troubled mind

Awaken to the dawn to seek out what lies beyond

The horizon beckons your journey through this day

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2025


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Біля вогню

Біля вогню


Місячні промені, що падають з неба
Послухайте крики відьом
Це віра, яка ніколи не вмирає
Знову лунають голоси зі шляху.
Небесний танець під срібним світлом
Цифри на пляжі цієї літньої ночі
Богиня, яка охороняє, коли вони виявляють захват
З новим зі старого вони відновлять

Навколо казана рухається палаючий бренд
Коли хвилі накочуються на пісок
Тож цикли сезонів все ще пестять її землю
Відбиваючись у чаші, тінь від полум’я.
Blodeuwedd, виготовлений із цвітіння
Ріаннон виходить із темряви
Аріанрод сяє з місяця
Все виткано з ткацького верстата, який носить її ім’я

Танці в повітрі навколо вогню
Стрибки, коли приплив стає вищим
Висуваючи бажання землі
Елементи, що кружляють навколо сяючого полум’я
На спідницях Банби ми танцюємо цього дня
Потім бризніть солоним спреєм Домну
Співайте пісні Дану і будьте геями
Навколо вугілля Арти вона все ще царює.


© Девід Хопкофт 2000

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