Poetry

Poetry

It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care to act,
it starts when you do it again after they said no,
it starts when you say we and know who you mean,
and each day you mean one more.

Marge Piercy

Why no?
Friday, 18 June 2021 10:40

Why no?

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in Poetry
Why no? fir Lolly by Jim Mainland A’m tinkin at Voar wid be da ideal time fir dis ‘levellin up’ I keep hearin aboot. Lat’s imagine at dy end da rig is biggit high, it drains weel, da grund is good.But at my end it’s low an weet an fu…
Whit?
Friday, 18 June 2021 10:36

Whit?

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in Poetry
Whit? by Jim Mainland Na, na, na, na, na, hing on a meenit! Du’s sayin if du gies dem lots a money dey gie dee a lucrative contract or a plum job? Or if du’s related ta da boss he maks dee Loard so-and-soo somethin or idder? An den pits…
This most bloody and divisive prime minister: Margaret Thatcher, exploitation and class struggle
Friday, 18 June 2021 08:37

This most bloody and divisive prime minister: Margaret Thatcher, exploitation and class struggle

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in Poetry
Fran Lock writes about Thatcher and her legacy. Image above: Steev Burgess Not quite a decade after her death, and already cultural depictions of former British prime minister Margaret Thatcher are everywhere in evidence, most recently in the hit Netflix TV series The Crown, where she is played by Gillian…
let them eat chips
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Friday, 18 June 2021 07:44

let them eat chips

in Poetry
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let them eat chips by Julie Easley common sense is cheap these days - just ask the rich they chuck in their opinion, churn out recipes for freethey say the poor can’t budget ‘cept for fags and booze and huge TV’sthey line up in their taxpayer limos for the latest…
Pain in My Heart
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Friday, 18 June 2021 07:39

Pain in My Heart

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Pain in My Heart by Sarah Barrington, with image above by Steev Burgess Before I left for universityMy friend Louisegot work for me, for the summer,At the recycling centre,Accounting in the offices, littered with windswept sheets of wasted paper,Amidst the incessant winking, bleeping, groaning lorries unloading on the weighbridge.In Portakabins,In…
Different Perspectives
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Friday, 18 June 2021 07:09

Different Perspectives

in Poetry
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Different Perspectives by Mike Gallagher Different pictures in my Sunday paper:Morant Bay, Jamaica, Seventeen Fifties,in close order a line of black womenfile up a ship's gangway, overladenpanniers of coal balanced on their heads.From an upper deck, a white overseerlooks down on the scene; no doubt, he fumeswhen the woman slips,…
The Cut of those Cold, Sharp Stars
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Friday, 18 June 2021 07:06

The Cut of those Cold, Sharp Stars

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The Cut of those Cold, Sharp Stars by Emma Lee I don't think it's to do with temperature.I feel every piece of grit, every puddle, the cold.There won't be a bus for another hour.I'm used to the cold. Used to shiver like a child,but now I don't even dream of…
The Hurdle Race
Thursday, 17 June 2021 08:14

The Hurdle Race

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in Poetry
The Hurdle Race by Paul Francis The Guru says that every kidshould run the same race that he did.He wants lanes narrow, hurdles tall.A course where most contestants fallmay not be sensitive or just;what matters is that it’s robust.So many ways to be assessed -the Guru knows that his is…
Absconders
Tuesday, 25 May 2021 15:14

Absconders

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in Poetry
Absconders(Artane industrial school 1965) by Edward Boyne So, it was dark, we crossed the fields and made the road.No street lights and no cars or trucks. We looked markedby our regulation arse-out-of-short-trousers, bowl-hair-cuts.We knew we had to make ground fast and get clear, outof the watching zone. We had the…
Notice to Quit
Tuesday, 25 May 2021 14:31

Notice to Quit

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in Poetry
Notice to Quit by Harriet Jae In ten days’ time, that’s it – she’ll be homeless.Nowhere to go yet her mind whirrs with Why? Questions circle like crows when she’s hopeless. The jackals in power stalk the sick and the harmless.She cowers below a black fluttering sky.In ten days’ time…
The Boy in the Subway
Tuesday, 25 May 2021 14:24

The Boy in the Subway

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in Poetry
The Boy in the Subway by Tony Webb I met my wife for breakfast.Futile negotiationsin the bookshop café at the Dylan Thomas Centre.A peaceful haven amongst books and old pictures. I ordered hot chocolate, knowing this would bother her.The cream on my lips and other parts of my facewere bound…
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