Wednesday, 05 December 2018 22:20


Written by
in Poetry


by Marilyn Francis

From St George’s Hill
it’s only fifteen minutes by car
to the nearest Food Bank.
Walking, it’s an hour, or so
via three golf courses
and private roads.

A Brotherhood of Man

On April Fool’s Day, 1649,
the Diggers came, not to turn the world upsidedown,
but to cultivate the wasteland, and the common land.
There would be no buying or selling of labour
the landless poor would support themselves
and the earth would be a treasury for all.

Living Life in Peace

They were, of course, attacked
by the locals, by the gentry, by the army
by a gang of men dressed as women
crops wrecked, huts pulled down,
arrested, taken to court, fined, harassed.
By August they’d gone.
By 1650 it was done.

No Possessions

A house at St George’s Hill
can cost as much as the average
person might earn in 528 years
or maybe slightly less
factoring in whatever
must be factored
for the future.

Read 4200 times Last modified on Wednesday, 05 December 2018 22:29
Marilyn Francis

Marilyn Francis lives and writes poems in Radstock, which was once a mining town in the Somerset coalfield.

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