Hoping

Hoping
For a Christmas
Getting together with
Those we love and care about most
Hoping
For a winter
With a family kept safe
And no gruelling home schooling
Hoping
For a new year
Getting out and about
A return to normality
Hoping
Hoping...

Choice - for National Poetry Day 2021

This my poem for National Poetry Day, inspired by their theme of ‘Choice’.

I have tried to think about ‘What is choice?’ And ‘Who has it?’

Choice is a word that is used a lot in the modern world, especially since the opening of privatisation and free markets in the UK. We are told that we can choose all sorts of things, but do we really have choice, or is this just an illusion.

Having said that, in the western world we have much more choice around our everyday lives than those in other countries, but even here large amounts of the population do not really have choice.

In the backdrop of Sarah Everard, can any woman really say that they have the choice to walk alone anywhere at night?

In the wake of Black Lives Matter, can any person of colour really say that they have the choice to follow certain careers or be comfortable in certain places?

In the current energy crisis that hits the UK, and the loss of a large number of energy companies, who can honestly say that they have a real choice in who provides their gas and electricity?

And in the wake of Covid, how many people can say that they’ve had a choice in the way they work from now and into the future? Is homeworking possible? Is it enforced?

The key to choice comes with power, privilege and control. None of us will really have choice until we are able to harness all of these to some degree.



Freedom
Comes from choices
As we are always taught.
Or are we caged in a cycle?
Upgrades.
Switching.
Renewal dates.
Comparison websites.
Where differences are miniscule
And our minds become swamped
What is a choice?
Power.
Control.
This is freedom,
To have power and control.
But for those who lack these
Means no freedom.
No choice.

NaPoWriMo Earlybird - "Museum"

Today's earlybird prompt:

Today, we’d like to challenge you to spend a few minutes looking for a piece of art that interests you in the online galleries of New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Perhaps a floral collar from the tomb of Tutankhamen? Or a Tibetan cavalryman’s suit of armor? Or a gold-and-porcelain flute? After you’ve selected your piece, study the photographs and the accompanying text. And then – write a poem! Maybe about who you imagine making the piece, or using it. Or how it wound up in the museum? Or even the life of the person who wrote the text about the piece – perhaps the Met has a windowless basement full of graduate students churning out artwork descriptions – who knows?

I chose a 9th to 10th century lamp found at Nishapur in Iran. It made me consider the important role that museums and galleries play in shedding light on history and the past, that we would not otherwise be aware of, and how important they are culturally. Here is my poem:

Illuminating the darkness of the past
Shining a light beyond our birth
The artifacts allow us to cast
Our minds back in time and memory
 
Take, for instance, this lamp
Once brightened dark, impenetrable nights
A pretty pattern shadow stamped
On the walls in a Silk Road city
 
And now held in collective trust
Reminders, and remainders, of civilisations
Once forgotten, beneath earth and dust
Projecting a beam upon history

Homeschooling, Trump, and Two Poems

So, the homeschooling began this week. In a positive sense both the kids want to learn, however Isabel wants to do the whole term in a day and gets jealous when Freja gets attention, meanwhile Freja (with her limited vocabulary) needs a bit of extra help with explaining things.

All this is going on with the 11 month old trying to pull everything down, or clinging to us or screeching.

And all this going on with me working full time after having taken a lot of time off over Christmas.

Meanwhile, the Covid situation seems to be getting worse. I've read figures saying that 1 in 30 within London have tested positive, whilst the national figures have topped a thousand for four days running. It's pretty scary really. With the transmission rates being so much higher, I'm amazed that the lockdown is so much more lax this time around. 

The local car dealership appeared to be open today when I went out of a walk which amazes me. I mean, who wants to buy a car during a pandemic anyway?

But we're coping despite being exhausted and in a brain freeze. So, here's the first poem.

Pacing chocolate intake with no means of escape
Laying on the couch, trying not to stay in shape
Anxiety is the new normal state
Grilling Twitter for the latest Covid update
Understanding that there are better ways to live
Empty tank with very little left to give

If all of this wasn't enough, the crazy goings on happening in America just seem hard to fathom. How can it be that a President can be allowed to whip up this sort of situation of gangs breaking into the Capitol and attempting a coup?

It's not something I could ever imagine happening here, even by someone like Farage. It's going to take a long time to heal the wounds over there (and here of course) and across most of the world. 

We definitely appear to be heading into some sort of crunch position. Either humans are going to bring about some sort of cataclysm which only a few (or any) will survive, or we will find a way to pull back from the brink and maybe into a fairer world - one can only hope.

In light of this it was pleasing to see Trump removed from social media channels. Although, they themselves have to take some of the blame for the world being in the position it's in, for not blocking people's channels before this. There is so much hate being peddled there by so many, and yet they are allowed to carry on - some still denying Covid of course.

All this inspired another poem, another acrostic.

Tweeting no more lies to incite

Riots that attempted to

Undermine the democratic process

May we be thankful that his

Presidential days are almost over

Take care & stay safe

Out of Lockdown

Who wants to be out of lockdown?

Because we can't end this too soon.

Our safety is in the hands of a clown

Who wants to be out of lockdown,

Without a care if we swim or drown,

They're shooting for the moon.

Who wants to be out of lockdown?

Because we can't end this too soon.

Cummings and Goings

The comings and goings

Of Dominic Cummings

Appear to be clear

And incredibly damning

Yet Boris and the Cabinet's

Mouths are clamming

Tightly, in shell-shock

Backing, not sacking

The PM's advisor.

Whichever way yo spin it

You cannot disguise a

Blatant infringement of rules

When we've locked down at home

And they've closed all the schools.

But here is a man

Who has taken a trip

Over two hundred miles

Without barely a dip

Of his head in shame

Not taking the blame.

The leadership that

The government is showing

Is abject at best

And Cummings should be going.

Christmas Dreams and Fears

Do you dream of bright wrapped boxes
Full of expensive gifts?
Or do you fear your kids going without
If you don't get those extra shifts?

Do you dream of that after dinner feeling
Contented and well fed?
Or do you fear for another Christmas
Without a roof over your head?

Do you dream of seeing the family
How your nephews have all grown?
Or do you fear that your help won't come
Elderly and all alone?

Do you dream of falling snow
A blanket cold and white?
Or do you fear for rising seas
A world ready to ignite?

Do you dream of getting Brexit done
A nation strong and free?
Or do you fear for the vulnerable
Cast aside like human debris?

Going Down The Diamond

I'll start by saying that this is kind of a companion piece (although not at all planned) to my wife's recent blogpost - at least in terms of the fact that it relates to school.

My daughter's school has this thing called "The Diamond". If you behave well, or do good work then you go up the diamond. This all sounds great so far. But if you behave badly, or do something against the rules, then you go down the diamond. Suddenly sounding not so good.

But it get's worse. If you finish in the lower parts of the diamond then you can be sent to the headteacher, or even miss playtimes. Yes, they stop children being able to exercise and get fresh air!!

Reason's for going down the diamond can be for talking or hitting (kind of OK, but some children just don't conform well the the strict rules of keeping still and quiet for long periods of time at school, and they shouldn't be punished for this).

Apparently you can also go down the diamond if you don't get changed fast enough after PE!

There are better ways of encouraging children, without completely throwing their mental health out the window. But it's symptomatic of the way's we deal with people generally who are slightly outside the narrow field of what it conservatively "normal".

People with alternative lifestyles, people who identify as LGBT, or even ethnic minorities within a fairly heterogeneous population are often selected against through various cultural processes or expectations.

Obviously as parents there is not much we can do to change school practices, only try to explain to our daughter that we love her for who she is and the school diamond isn't going to have any effect on that. But it will take time.

Here is my poem for this post:

The

Fear in

My daughter’s

Eyes at the thought

Of dropping down the

Diamond; A system to penalise

Those less able to conform to the rigidity

Of the classroom; In the way we take money from

Those less able to fill in a Universal Benefit claim form; Or

Ostracise those who do not identify with binary

Gender; Or think less of those whose

Skills lie with their hands instead

Of their brains; We should be

Inclusive and encourage;

But like diamonds

We all have

Flaws

Abortion Rights

As a man I really struggle knowing what it is I can say, or be allowed to say, when it comes to abortion rights for women, since it is not something that my body will ever have to worry about.

However, I know that denying women and girls the chance of abortion, on the basis that once an embryo has begun it deserves more rights than the person carrying it, is wrong.

There are so many reasons why safe, legal abortions are good. From controlling population growth, to the physical and mental health of women, to reducing the burden that is unwanted children, both on families and on a society.

And it simply comes from elements of the population wanting to have complete control over others, to have power over them for the simple reason that it scares them to be without it.

Men and patriarchies have controlled the world for so long, that now they are beginning to see a hint of a swing against them (for let’s be honest, for all the emancipation, women’s lib and #metoo, barely anything has changed), they are acting to reverse even the most minor changes.

I read that we all have bodily autonomy over whether we would want to provide a blood transfusion to someone, in order to save their life. Our dead bodies have bodily autonomy, when it comes to organ transplants, again in order to save another life. However, women will not have that bodily autonomy when they are pregnant, just in order to save a small bunch of cells.

This perfectly describes the double standards at work, without even going into the ability to own a gun and how many lives are destroyed by that weapon on a daily basis.

My hope is that these recent episodes of curtailing abortion rights become nothing more than an outlier, when we look back upon the history of equality. However, my fear is that it is the embryo of something far more sinister.

As such I have been inspired to two poems for this post:

Poem #1

Barely a foetus

Unknowing; unaware 

Potential in a bunch of cells

Thousands of women

Desperate; in fear

Living their own personal hell

Twenty five men

In full control

Keeping control for themselves

Poem #2

Beginning to grow

But not yet formed

Still in an embryo

Nourished and warmed

By right wing powers

And the patricarchy

Gaining new life

By mother's misery

For those who will suffer

And that reason alone

It should be aborted

And never condoned

Bus Station

I read with some sadness today, that from 31 October, Greyhound Canada will be discontinuing all routes West of Ontario. Apparently due to falling passenger numbers.

Twelve years ago I spent some fabulous months backpacking across Canada, using Greyhound buses as my major means of transport. I got into that regular rhythm of being dropped off with your fellow passengers every few hours in the middle of nowhere, with some sort of eatery close to hand (often Tim Hortons of course), and the bus would disappear for an hour to change drivers, before returning, and everyone would claim the same seat that they had before.

I took that 30+ hour route all the way from Toronto to Winnipeg, which will no longer be available since buses will now go no further than Sudbury. When I got off my bus in Winnipeg, it felt close to being born again. I had been on it so long that I felt a sense of disorientation, of not knowing what to do without that bus, that took several hours to shake.

I continued my tour, by Greyhound bus again, to Saskatoon, and then onto Edmonton, and Banff and finally into Vancouver. We travelled through the Rockies, and for hours saw nothing but highway and blue sky and cloud touching, snow capped, and beautiful mountains.

During the earlier legs, in farmlands of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, there was nothing but highway and a sky so large it is virtually impossible to imagine, when you're in a country as small and close as Britain.

I am sure that other bus companies will step in to carry on those routes in one way or another, but something will still have been lost, especially to any future backpackers. At least they will stay in my memory and in those of others before and after me.

I would like to close with a poem I wrote on this trip, inspired by the numerous hours I spent in bus stations across the country.

The Bus Station

The watching and waiting of the flickering screen

To come the departures, that arrivals have been

Quiet and hallowed is the waiting hall way

A mind numbed by hours has little to say

Friends and loved ones are met with a smile

But it's tears for the travellers who'll be gone for a while

As the chill wafts in on the ten-thirty bus

Flesh is covered up with a minimum of fuss

For a time of transition, which some would delay

Much drama is seen at each parking bay

It happens so often, and yet goes unseen

As most are fixed watching the flickering screen

Deny

They twist reality to their own ends
Tying the truth in knots
Dismissing the data of scientists
Accusing them of making plots

Saying gas and oil drives economies
Creating jobs an indisputable fact
And with growth the only important thing
They'll grab all that can be fracked

And global warming is not a concern
It's all a natural cycle folks
For every few hundred millennia
All life on this planet chokes

The sad thing is we can't make the change
We can either drown or fry
At least while they still have all the power
They'll deny, deny, deny

Soft

I am too soft.
Like a sketch left in the rain
Ink outlines dripping
Beauty, but lost in a downpour.

I am too soft
Like a sand sculpture on the beach
Overcome by the breaking waves
Art, but vanished in the tide.

I am too soft
Like a chocolate at dawn
Melting at the suns first rays.
Sweet, but a puddle before noon.

I could be hard
Like a diamond dug from the earth
Cutting with the slightest touch
Sparkling, but not so rare.

Garden

We used to play in the garden
And tend it.
Thinning out the tangled roots
Of the hedges.
Strimming and cutting the grass.
Keeping out
The strangling weeds.
Watering
Plants in their colour and vibrancy.
Fresh smells
And laughter in company.

But something changed.
We stopped playing
And now no longer tend.

The brambles have taken over.
Choking the garden
With their stinging touch.
The weeds have grown woody.
Twisting and smothering
The brightness of variety.
And all that's left
Are lingering tears of dew.
Amidst the stench
Of mulched decay.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJPSpQmE1HM

Head

Some people lose their heads
Over how others cover theirs
Many a comment has been said
Surrounding what another wears

It's more important what's in their heart
Appearance matters not
Be we will all be split apart
If we continue to allow this rot

Family

We are a family
A family of four
Two kids, Mum & Dad
There aren't any more

Unless you count Grandad
Then that'd be five
But we can't add Grandma
As she's no longer alive

Then more grandparents
Both of them abroad
And uncles, aunties, cousins
They can't be ignored

Ours is just a subset
Of a bigger family
A twig, on a branch
On a much grander tree

Despite differences
We are all really one
Earth's family
In the light of the Sun

Attitude

No matter what it is you do
No matter what it is you say
If you don't have the attitude
Then you won't get your way.

You can hold all the information
The research and the facts
But no-one listens to a quiet voice
It's confidence that attracts.

So show belief in who you are
It won't matter if you're wrong or right
And you will travel far in the world
A beacon shining bright.

Person

We sense the world in first person
It is our only point of view
No matter how much we imagine
What we see is what we think is true.

We have no third person omnipotence
We cannot read other's minds
Imagination allows us to empathise
With the capacity to be kind.

When we tell others about our day
In second person narrative
We can begin to understand
And in love this is imperative.

It is only through our language
Through sharing, and listening too
That we realise experience is similar
For him, for her, for me and you.

Spike

When your beautiful car is getting covered in poo
Simply because a bird needs the loo
What springs to mind - to give it a clean?
No, not that, you're far too mean

Instead you look up and see that tree
And rather than how beautiful nature can be
You think, how horrible. Crikey! Yikes!
I must get it covered in sharp metal spikes!

This is the world of the powerful rich
Who do what they want when they have the itch
They disregard nature and disrespect it as well
Don't you just wish they would all go to hell?

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/dec/19/bird-spikes-in-bristol-trees-to-protect-cars-cause-dismay

Number Three

While the Royal's are lauded and paid for
When they have an extra child
Life gets harder for the poor
While the Royal's are lauded and paid for
No benefits for a third child no more
Unless you can prove you were defiled
While the Royal's are lauded and paid for
When they have an extra child

Firing the Gun

So the gun has been loaded
And we're pulling the trigger
As the shooting begins
You can hear Nigel snigger

Were they lies that they told us
With Gove looking shifty
Exhorting us to war
Over Article 50

But maybe we can hope
For a new golden dawn
Long lasting summers
With cricket on the lawn

At least that's what they told us
The vote to end all votes
No more illegal immigration
Or refugee boats

So now comes the battle
Or renegotiation
The continent looming
Over our faded nation

It won't be a fair fight
Much like a stick to a tank
Or a would-be homeowner
Denied again by a bank

Will they cut our supply lines?
Besiege our wet isle?
Are we really significant
Or in Edwardian denial

We voted knowing nothing
And we know nothing still
Except there'll be losses to both sides
As economic graves fill