Tag Archives: Poem

We did this

I seem to have fallen into a pattern, that repeats.
Wake up. Feel alright.
Get on with work. The day.
Check the news. Catch up on messages.
Work meeting.
Activist meeting.
Cognitive dissonance EXPLOSION.

Try again. To engage with people.
At work – they don’t get it.
Grief builds. Rage builds.
Go for a walk.
Sit in the church yard.
Wonder when the fields.
Will burn. Or flood.
Or freeze.

A blackbird brings temporary reprieve.
Temporary solace in nature.
The trees. Birds. Insects. Deer.
Then more grief. For them.
For the dog walker.
For kids. In the playground.
For us.

Back to work.
More meetings. More dissonance.
Try again. Mostly silence.
Or embarrassment.
No realisation of what their kids.
Are facing.
What they.
Are facing.
The game. Is up.

They admit. It’s bad.
Then back to holidays. Flights.
AI. TV shows. Shoes.
Buying stuff they want.
But don’t need.
Maybe they can’t connect. Emotionally.
Maybe to do so.
Would crumple something.
Their raison d’etre.
Their fragile purpose.
Their faith in systems. Order. Continuity.
In the future.
All fucked. Collapsed.

Keep on. Keeping on.
Try to conform. To work hard.
To deliver.
To help colleagues. Friends.
Work is, after all, a community.
We lack community.
We need community.
We have destroyed. Community.
Lockdown. The Internet. Nuclear families.
Social Media. The Media. Politicians.
Billionaires. Marketing. Us.
They have destroyed. Community.
We let them.

Finish work.
Although it still goes on.
In my head. The list.
The to do’s. I’ve not done.
Next up. Planning meeting. Action.
People that get it.
That are awake.
The tired eyes. The Grief.
The Rage. The Hope.

That we can still make a difference.
But even if we can’t.
We’ll try.
Because that’s all that’s left.
Trying. In that we find.
Sanity.

More plans. Ideas. Analysis.
Sizzling vibes.
Maybe this could work.
Make a difference.
Wake them up.
Make them see. Connect.
With all their being.
Make them feel. What we feel.
Break the pattern. The mould.
Maybe. They are ready now.
After the heat. The drought.
The fires. The floods.
The harvest gone bad. The deaths.
After. Nepal. The flash flood. The carnage.

Again. I underestimate.
The establishment. The vested. Interests.
Fossil fuel. Lobbyists.
The media, the billionaires.
The politicians, drunk in Westminster.
The corporations. The money. The power.
Corruption. Greed. Hate.
Lady Justice.
Has been blinded.
Gagged.
Violated.


A council meeting.
I go along. Hopeful.
Maybe they’ll listen. This time.
I tried the system. Elected. Councillor.
Tried. To make a difference.
Barriers. Bureaucracy. Semantics. POLITICS.
Pettiness. Sniping. Divisiveness.
Nothing the public.
Would care about.
But stopping anything. Radical.
Anything. Not normal.
Anything needed.
That would rock. The boat.
Which is sinking.

Home. My cat. Unconditional.
Unless I withhold. Treats.
They see, in the dark.
But. Can stand on your face.
While you sleep.
Sofa. Wine. TV.
Anaesthetic. To a failing world.
To the grief. The anger.
The ignorance. The arrogance.
The patriarchy. The old men.
Who greedily grasp power.
Whilst we burn. Suffocate. Starve.

I am hungry. For unity.
For love. For nature. For water.
For soil. For plants. For people.
For community. For care.
For change that means something.
For action that does something.
For systems that work.
For people.
Not power.
For a future. For children.
And.
For me. For us. For all life.

Sleep comes.
Sometimes in bed.
Sometimes the sofa.
Broken dreams. Conflict.
Anxiety expressed.
Lost. Burdened by luggage.
Whilst fleeing.
Mountain passes. Fields.
Tents. Many people I know.
Fighting. I evade. But have nothing.
No weapon. No strength left.
In my legs.
I just exist. Hide. Try to help.
Whilst it all.
Dies.
Guilt.

I awake. A new day.
The pattern repeats.
More grief. More rage.
More sparks. Of hope.
More news. More lies.
Corruption. Greed. Fallacies.
More worship.
Of false idols.
We sacrifice. Ourselves.
Our children.
The future.

On the altar of capitalism.
Of unfettered growth.
Of Trump. Putin. Netanyahu. Modi. Farage. Musk. Zuckerberg. Bezos.
Murdoch. Thiel. Altman. bin Salman.
Oh. Look. All men.

More news. More floods.
More drought. More fire.
More war. More death.
More atrocity. More genocide.
In Gaza.
In Sudan. In Myanmar.
In China – Xinjiang.
In Ukraine.

More. More More.
We push back. We try.
More solar. More wind.
More tidal. More clean.
Grid upgrades. Storage.
But. No.
Self interest. Privilege. Status quo.
They stop us. Surviving.
Stop us. Changing.
It will be too late. Too soon.
Then. Their fields. Will be burnt. Frozen. Flooded.
We will be.
Climate refugees.
With no refuge.

Somehow. Still.
I. And many others.
Carry on. With the burden.
Of grief. Of guilt. Of rage.
Of knowing.
Of being awake.
Of connecting.
With where we are.
And where we will be.

Some things. Locked in.
Others. Still preventable.
If we try.
If we Rebel. For Life.
If we say. No more.
No more patriarchy.
No more media platforms for billionaires.
No more Oil. Gas. Fossil fuels.
No more profit.
Whilst Earth burns.
No more drunk MPs. In Westminster.
No more lies.

Tell the Truth.
Rewild. Restore.
Ungag Lady Justice. Let her see. Act.
Build communities.
Grow connections, not wealth.
Live within. Our limits.
Not taking. From others.
Food. Water. Shelter.
Warmth. Companionship. Happiness.
Joy. Health.
A future.


NOT A BURNING PLANET.
Wracked by storms. Fires. Floods. War.
And collapse.
Extinction.

We can do this.
We can wake up.
We can change our path.
We can save ourselves. Future generations.
The living world we belong to.
If we act. If we step up. If we take risks. If we connect.
HOPE IS ACTIVE


RESIST

Resist.





I wanted to tell you about the Blue Tits

Mum passed away a couple of week’s ago. I keep wanting to tell her about stuff. So I wrote her a little poem, by way of an update.

I nearly rang you today, cos of the Blue Tits,
They are nesting in the box that Dad built,
I can hear the chicks cheaping, asking for food,
Their parents are never far away,
In and out of the box with grubs and insects,
Nature is wonderful.

I wish I could tell you about them, constantly on the go,
They work from dawn to dusk,
And get very cross,
When Gideon comes and stares at them,
He is really fascinated,
I know you like hearing about him.

I cleaned out the garage too,
And found a photo from when I eighteen,
All of us together in front of the fireplace,
With the dent in, where someone threw a vase,
Before we moved in,
Always makes me laugh, happy days.

I contacted Catherine in Japan, to let her know,
She said she has photos,
From when you were in Grenoble, learning French,
Like I did when I was 20,
Looking forward to the pictures,
Young Mum, full of life.

The garden is growing at a pace,
Weeds everywhere, of course,
I like weeds, some lovely flowers too,
And raspberries, wish I could give you some,
The Jasmine and Honeysuckle are going to be great,
Scents of summer, and peace.

Got to get back on my bike more,
I cleaned it today, all shiny,
Need to work off a few pounds, and get fit,
And maybe another cycle tour,
Maybe the coast again, or somewhere else,
For you Mum, you loved following my tours.

We are getting their Mum, sorting stuff,
But it would be a lot easier if we could ask questions,
You knew all the names,
We’ll make it work though,
That’s all for now, lots of love,
Will speak again soon.


Some photos Mum would like too.

Anger…

Most of the time cycling to work is great. It’s relaxing, keeps you fit, non-polluting, burns calories, and all the other positives.

Sometimes however it can leave me feeling a bit angry, for various reasons.

Today was one such day. I wrote a poem about it on my lunch break.

Anger
As I cycle…

Fields flash past
Forest, stream
Wild hedgerows
Full of thorns
Rooks caw
Cold, clear
Fresh, free, clean
Relax…
Turn the pedals
Breathe deep
Enjoy the moment

Then
I sigh…
Two young hedgehogs
Hit…
Dead
On the verge
Did they crawl there to die?
A blackbird
Head crushed, slain
Will sing no more
A pigeon
Ragged, bloodied, feathers everywhere
I pass more corpses
Rat, deer, rabbit
Hawk, pheasant
Lying on a tarmac altar
Sacrificed for what?

Plastic, litter
Infesting hedges, ponds
Fields, woodland, paths
No-where is spared
Polluting, poisoning
More jettisoned
From car windows
No thought
Heedless of damage
Why no shame?
Why so lazy?
Why think this is okay?

Fumes, foulness,
Exhausts belch
Black smoke, invisible toxins
More poison
Choking, chest hurts, throat burns
And new roads
Scar the countryside
More bad smells
Bitumen
Strangling Earth
Infected arteries
Opening the countryside
To more…
Death

Past the Broad
A small sanctuary
Peace
Smile returns
Weave down the road
Morning dogs!
Wildfowl paddling
Early morning rowers
Swans gliding
Majestics presences
Not enough

Drivers, many good
Some, not so
No indication
Pass too close
Abuse…thanks
3 mile commutes
Or less
Why not walk, cycle?
They won’t
Don’t think
Too hard
Too much effort

That’s why
I’m sometimes angry
Depressed, despondent
Can this ever change?
People won’t
Too selfish
Too…someone else
Until it’s too late
Then they’ll blame
Others
Instead…
Look in the mirror

END

 

Thankfully it’s not all bad, and a lot of people are trying to make things better. That was, however, cathartic.