Renewal

Positive thinking
For the hope and renewal
Of society

Changing politics
Honest and discussion led
Old is the new New

The future is love
Let's grasp opportunity
To benefit all

http://www.theguardian.com/politics/commentisfree/2015/sep/29/the-guardian-view-on-jeremy-corbyns-conference-speech-he-won-a-hearing-not-the-argument

Witness

I see and feel sorry
For them standing
At the stations
During weekdays
And school vacations
In all weathers
Rain and sun
The chilly cold wind
Thinking
They'd have every right
To rescind
Their place
Especially since
They are ignored
As they witness
The commuters
The hassled, the bored
A lonely vigil
With their pamphlets
On a rack
But still next week
I know
They'll be back

The Dragon in the Garden

The little dragon’s quest was almost over as he peered over the high wall of St George’s garden. He could see his quarry in the distance, looking like a pool of blood he thought.

He hopped onto the top of the wall and looked down. It was a long drop and he still didn’t quite have the strength in his wings to fly. He swallowed. He jumped but landed awkwardly on his leg. Great, he thought, I’m a goner if there are any dogs.

The dragon limped through the garden, skirting the wildest looking plants. Their defences look like they could be painful, he thought. He could scent what he was after and the smell of victory was getting closer.

But all of a sudden a patch of swaying vines loomed up in front of him, and stretching to either side as far as he could see. He had no choice he realised, he would have to go through them. He charged.

The mass of vines looped and swung as they sensed the invader, but the dragon hopped and jumped, skipped and dodged. He could just see daylight ahead when one vine slapped him hard from behind and sent him spinning.

Dazed and confused on the floor, his head felt like it would explode. Opening his eyes, the daylight burst in like a rocket, but the dragon sensed rather than saw the danger closing in on him. A couple more jumps and I’m there he thought, willing himself up. His heart was thudding.

A couple of vines swished with killing blows, but they only hit dirt as the dragon scampered out to safety. He stood panting, with his sore leg and head. But I’m still alive, he thought, and I’ve still got a chance.

And looking up he saw what he was after. He was so excited he forgot his injuries and ran forward. He almost failed to spot the dagger-like thorns protecting his prize but managed to pull up just in time. His eyes widened at the size of the spikes.

Carefully he stepped off the grass. This isn’t going to be about speed, he thought, but agility and precision. Controlling his breathing he crawled and stretched, weaved and twisted himself a path through the sharp points.

Until there it was in front of him. He set to work with his teeth and claws, sap running down his jaw as he nibbled away at the stem. It was tough and seemed to take forever. But before he knew it, he’d worked it loose and it was in his little hands.

Immediately he could feel an extra strength glowing in his wings. But as he stretched them out he was suddenly wracked with pain on one side. Turning to look he could see one of the sword-like thorns had caught his shoulder.

The pain was so great that his head began to throb again, so too his leg. The dragon swooned and breathed deeply. As he did so, the scent of the flower in his hand worked like a painkiller and he returned to consciousness before he could topple over.

Smiling and spreading his wings more carefully this time, the dragon took off. Circling about above the garden, he could see the gardeners all running out, looking like ants from high up, and shaking their fists at him.

But the dragon took no more notice and turned westwards for home. I may have a leg, shoulder and head injury, he thought, but I have what I came for: A big, blood red rose to take back to my fathers.

Rights

Oh what a wonderful fellow
He's come across as a lovely chap
To have gotten straight down to business
Without diplomatic mishap

After all, who needs humanity
Or any of the basic rights
And for our Chancellor its obvious
It's money in which he delights

But of course, he could have come unstuck
At the mention of room for a spare bed
Or of the disabled with income cut
Who have now ended up dead

And as such you cannot blame him
He'd be justifiably frit
That if he'd called them out on abuses
They might call him a hypocrite

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-china-34356097

Wasteful

It's not always the public's fault
For the waste they generate
Sometimes it's manufacturers
Who have got us in this state

A wrapper inside a carton
Inside a box inside a wrapper
And with some pretty colours
It really does look dapper

But if companies kept it simple
There would be so much less waste
And we'd be able to keep our bins
Empty, clean and chaste

Battle

It's a battle
A gender war
Where they're
Constantly undermined
Women paid less
Then penalised
But the rich are wined
And dined
Offered jobs
By family
Nepotism ingrained
But only for men
First born, white
And not
Homosexually stained
If that weren't enough
They're demoted, despite
Attempting
To do their jobs
You wonder what women
Will have to do
To beat these bigots
And snobs
As they're cheated
By inequality
Over the many
And by the sexist few

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/sep/24/sumption-law-sexism-quotas-male-privilege-women-judiciary

http://www.theguardian.com/education/2015/sep/24/proposed-student-loan-changes-would-affect-women-and-poor-most-study

http://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2015/sep/23/chelsea-eva-carneiro-integrity-fa-premier-league

Pacts

Social promises,
Have an expectation.
Of inebriation,
And indiscretion.
Drunken pacts
Taken in crowded
Taverns; No longer
Tax the souls,
In darkened caverns.
But to state
I digress,
Into a mode
Of undress, unknown
And naked; Lying
Like the truth
Between ruthlessness
And compassion.
"Where's the passion?"
You might say.
But for some
The dawning is
An early warning.
In the morning of the day
The early hour
Provides the shock.
And the sense
That no earthly shower
Will ever get you
Out of hock.

Pill

No longer dealing in life
But dealing out death
No more for the profit of mankind
But simply profit
Dressed up
With a sugar pill
Of promises
And it must be swallowed
Hook, line and caplet
Side effects are the choices:
Death or debt

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-34320413

Lungs

"Advancement through technology"
But for who?
As they turn the wheels at full speed
In their own favour
Steering their computers
To disguise the truth
Driving roughshod over rules
That protect our air
Our lungs
Our environment
Our health
Going through the gears
To protect their profits
At our expense
"The Car" is indeed the killer
In so many ways

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-34311819

Clock

When is a clock
Not a clock
When it's a bomb
Of course
Especially
When the boy in the dock
Has a Muslim name
And brown skin
And won't give up
On his claim
That it's only a clock
Whatever spin
Whatever hands turn this
One way or the other
It's never clock-wise
To pander to fear

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/picture/2015/sep/18/ahmed-mohamed-its-a-clock-with-a-built-in-racism-detector

Borders

It's borders
That keep us apart
Stopping us
From reaching out
With our hearts
With our love
And our capacity
For compassion
Leaving us
Uniformly regimented
Stuck
In the same old fashions
And whatever our gender
Our race
Or our colour or creed
Whether we are living
With plenty
Or desperately
In need
If we let
These borders dissolve
And let the boundaries
Melt away
We may find
A shared joy
In keeping hardship
At bay

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-34275400

Anthem

Would you sing a song to the Queen?
A receiver of government handouts
Is it really as much of a scene
As the European refugee routs

A song full of pomp, of circumstance
Religious as much as monarchist
To a woman who acceded through chance
And given the job through fate's twist

Would you sing a song to the Queen?
A symbol of all that is wrong
A rapture to a medieval machine
That's been around for far too long

http://www.theguardian.com/politics/blog/live/2015/sep/16/corbyn-faces-shadow-cabinet-split-over-abolishing-benefits-cap-politics-live

Without

To live without cash
No stash
Of money in the bank

Work and generous gifts
It lifts
Your spirits to life's joy

Man and nature combined
Entwined
Dependent on each other

http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/sep/15/living-without-money-what-i-learned

Jez

Jez he did it
Jez is the man in charge
Aiming to boost our politics
To give it a big recharge

And we won with some panache
With first round majority
Built on his desire
To oppose austerity

The beard made no difference
Harking back to Keir Hardie's time
With straight talking politics
Instead of a soundbite mime

Jez he did it
But let's see what he does now
Will he keep the momentum going?
Will we see a ruffled Cameron brow?

Black

They prefer to frack
Than have a crack
At renewable energy
They must be getting
Something back
From the fossil companies

Displaying a lack
Of strength, of back-bone
In the face of lobbying
They've given in
And changed their tack
In favour of gas drilling

And now they'll attack
And cleave and hack
At unprotected countryside
Our environment
Will take the whack
Our nature will have died

So when the water's black
We'll have to pack
And be sent to biodomes
And all because
They chose to frack
We will have lost our homes

Fence

The neighbour kicked down the fence today
She seemed to think it was the only way
The only opportunity for her
To get a new fence...Err?

She wasn't happy with the one she's got
And the hadn't the time to let this one rot
So she stuck in her boot and out the planks flew
We watched, well, what else could you do?

The trouble is, her theory had holes
As now did the fence, between its end poles
The repairs were made with the planks she kicked out
And you begin to wonder, what was that all about?

Reign

Long has she rained over us
Like a menacing, black, storm-cloud
With her dysfunctional family
Hereditarily endowed

Long has she reined over us
With whips ready in the hand
Harnessing us in servitude
To an inbred, arrogant, band

Long has she reigned over us
For sixty-three years too long
In a system decayed and archaic
It's time to sing a republican song

Codes

No one ever tells
A boy to change
His clothes.
His trousers never
Show too much
Ankle; His shirts
Too much
Of his neck.
A T-Shirt is never
Too short; Shorts
Are always
The right length.
Hair is never
Cut in a style
Considered provocative.
Yet these
Are the rules
And codes we impart
On girls, as we
Teach them
How they should live.

http://www.theguardian.com/education/2015/sep/07/restrictive-school-dress-codes-student-outrage

Indian

Autumnal sunshine
Red-rimmed leaves and golden light
Indian summer

Blue and hazy skies
Spring from chilly dark mornings
The mixed up seasons

Warmer themes reprised
Before the requiem hymn
As the year plays out

Head

I wish I knew what went on
Inside your little head
The reasons why you woke
When you should be asleep in bed
Or the cause of screams
Of those sudden tears
Is it anger, frustration,
A manifestation of your fears?

I wish I knew more
So that I could comfort you
Sometimes a hug doesn't seem enough
Compared to all that I could do
But even you are not aware
Of what conflicts your mind
As quickly they come, they go
And we can all unwind

Threat

While we celebrate
A new date
In our children's lives

A special day
Upon life's way
Proud parents, husbands, wives

An education
Is a celebration
To be grateful for

Safe environment
To ease development
And no threat of war

Reach

Reach out your arms
For an embrace
Have a think about the horrors
That others face
Persecuted for gender
Colour, religion and race

Reach and hold them
In your arms
Take heed of these
Humanitarian alarms
And those held at the mercy
Of all the global harms

Reach out and take them
By the hand
Show the world you are
Prepared to take a stand
Forcing those in charge
To your compassionate demand

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/sep/01/icelanders-call-on-government-to-take-in-more-syrian-refugees

Bank

I wonder why there are so few
Is it in trepidation
Of a new idea
A fear of the unknown
Or that perhaps
Once those seeds
Have been sown
There is no way of knowing
Where they settled
Or the direction
In which the wind was blowing?

http://www.theguardian.com/science/2015/aug/31/britains-national-sperm-bank-wants-men-to-prove-their-manhood