Westerlies
I watch the skies
These days
Anxious
For the change
Noting the Westerlies
Return
And that blue
Of western skies
And the Cirrus
High above
It seems
To my eye
A kinder sky
In some way
.
RAC
Time to heal
Time to heal.
I wondered about the time
So pulled the sleeve back
That covered my watch
I was wearing two watches
I was puzzled by that
I had no memory
Of clipping them on
My browned wrists
The older watch
Doesn’t work
The replacement
Tells time fine
PTSD
Is like that.
Intolerance
Intolerance
I am completely intolerant
Of racism
I can’t remember a time
When I wasn’t
So now I’m listening
To those
Tired sad old lines
That begin
I’m not a racist but…
Time after time
Don’t they realise
That we
Fully understand
The subtext
what’s not being said
But is said
Opposition to immigration
is racism
And its fascism on the rise
Lets go back to the past
They incite
Empire
The commonwealth
And all that razzmatazz!
Go back to what?
Do pray tell
Workers under the heel
Racism in every way
we deal
with the outside world
women chained
to the kitchen sink
or thinking
forever of England
just breeding machines.
Go back to what?
No education?
No medicine?
No right to vote?
Silence!
RAC
Nightingales Bush
Nightingales Bush
Walking along
The short stretch
Of what remains
Of the old canal
I met a man
Who reminisced
Of playing
Here as a child
Canal cottages
Signal the past
Nightingales Bush
Another place
Another time.
RAC
The Somme
Brightening day
Brightening day
Grey mist
on green hills
Shrouding woodland
I watch bees feed
From flowers
Sage in a blue pot
And the day begins
To brighten
RAC
. a place of bells .
on occasions we go further than we did before. the patch of dark is from the trees, a marking place. the field of bells beyond. we have not walked there since her mother died. we can hear th…
Source: . a place of bells .
Blood
Denver’s blood.
One night making the long drive home
after working with another damaged child.
My mobile rang. Denver’s voice:
“Hi can I ask you a question?”
“OK Denver you know you can.
What do you want to ask me?”
“Can I have a blood transfusion?
I don’t want my blood anymore”.
I asked why not. Denver replied
“She told me my dad isn’t my dad
and when the Court test my blood
it’ll prove my dad isn’t my dad.
So if I get my blood taken out
and put my dad’s blood in me
they won’t take me away from him”.
Denver was 9 years old
living with her sister and father.
They were asleep when her mother
broke into the house during
one wild drunken rampage
and killed all the children’s pets.
“My dad’s not my real dad
but he is my dad
he’s been there always.
He’s the only one I’ve known
If I have his blood
They won’t take me away.”
She sighed when I told her
I won’t let them take you away.
There is a poverty of the heart.
On the hill
The flocks been shorn
The ewes searching, calling
For lambs gone away
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