Stop the boats.

Stop the boats. Build a bridge.

Britain is full. Full of talent and welcoming.

Pull back the benefits. Make everything free.

They bomb the hospitals. With packages of flowers.

They desecrate values. Values added by workforce.

They disrepute our creation. Creation of meaningful multicultural love.

“Make Britain great again.” A great big hub of togetherness.

Too many seek asylum. Only lunatics seek asylum in these social conditions.

Our border security is compromised. Compromise: we have shores all around us.

Climate is displacing people. We’re an island and it could soon be us displaced.

They come here just to avoid detention. Didn’t we arrest you for more?

They impact the economy for wages, public services, and debt. A soap opera of lives before.

There is no social integration. Poverty, housing, and acculturation are new, right?

Humanitarian crises are not our responsibility. Are you human?

They create a labour shortage. Nobody wants to work anymore.

There is no political populism. See also: the Internet.

The backlogs are too big. Work smarter.

Irregular migration was caused by war. Stop selling bombs to bomber nations.

Migrants have vulnerabilities. Tell that to the victims of Operation Yew Tree

The journeys are dangerous. Make the journeys fair and simple.

Healthcare is strained. Stop underfunding and selling it off in the first place.

Social services are crippled. Perhaps the fraud cases in the system needs more tackling.

Our national identity is being lost. The identity imposed upon many has had hundreds of years of changes and adaptation.

Human rights prevent us doing the right thing. Until your Human Rights are breached.

Discrimination will rise. You’re doing a great job, already.

These refugees don’t understand us. Welcome and educate all.

They come to divide us. You DIVIDE us.

I didn’t put my right arm up. Yes, sure… Adolf.

Stop the boats. Build a bridge.

All aboard.

I’m the commander of my own seas. I don’t mean to control them but I shall not let them wash over me. The waves crash beneath me, around me and by my side. They do not sweep me away in the tide.

The ship I choose to sail often changes. One day a frigate, one day a galleon. A skiff here, a galley there. On board a passenger liner with much company. A lonely kayak. A canoe floating along the river of life. Wearing a windbreaker in a windjammer. A rag boat struggling against the battling riotous rip tide. Schooner for later. Luxury aboard a catamaran or yachts heading for the high seas. Drinking tea aboard a clipper.

The undercurrent changes its spaces too. A still torrent floods in ebbs and flows. The rush and drag leaves me bobbing along. Up and down. Side to side. Over and under. Around in circles. Swirling. Staying motionless staring at stars. A whirlpool of dreamy dawns and dusks swishing directions. A flushing sound scolding my ears, drowning out yesterday’s sorrows. A puddle so smooth it reflects the sun like a giant glass mirror. Clouds visible far or vast shadows atop.

So, of you see me sailing through stormy waters, recall the saying of smooth waters not making for great sailors. A storm passes. As do I. Time claims all. I traverse a journey of my own. Will you sail with me? Now? Later? Never? All aboard.