Category — Poetry

‘Each year, around 1 in 10 women in Britain experience rape or other violence. One in four local authorities leave female victims of violence without the specialised support they need’. Ethnic minority women are especially badly affected.

This is the shocking message for International Women’s Day for Amnesty International UK’s campaign on violence against women.

If you go to Map of Gaps, you can see which services are missing in your local area and email your MP, asking them to do something to about it. Further information can also be found here

Every year (and sometimes on specific occasions), I post a poem I had written several years, well knowing that words are never enough and sometimes it is just too late. The poem is reproduced below:

If only we had known
The first time it happened
She wore dark glasses, wept all day
Hormones, we sniggered

The second time it happened
Walked into a wall she said
Alcohol, we smugly declared
Signed her cast, wished her well

The third time it happened
Fell down the stairs she said
And wouldn’t smile
Lover’s tiff, we winked

The fourth time it happened
A bee stung her she said
Frolicking in the park, we laughed
The fifth time it happened

She didn’t come in
We heard she was broken
Like a toy
Which no-one could
Ever
Put back together again

If only
We had known
We cried

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…are not like other birds, sensible and sane
One I met the other day had an especially small brain
It did not fly away when I moved towards it
And looked at me head-on like I was quite the dimwit
I demand my piece of ground, get out of the way
Get lost before I do some damage, it seemed to say…

Pigeons fly in packs and bicker over bits of trash and food
Squawking, scrabbling and sounding quite rude
Pigeons will perch on roofs and shit on your head
Mess up your day, might as well have stayed in bed

I heard a man in Trafalgar Square catches them for his supper
He hunts them down and fries them with a floury batter
Seeing that pigeons seem to enjoy eating dog poo
Good luck to him as he surely is eating that stuff too

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Lessons

I have learned
to welcome love
with symbolic sacrifice
and offerings of gratitude
to honour love’s vagaries
in the bleak solitude
of night
and to rejoice at love’s triumph
in the tranquillity of daybreak
most of all
I have learned
to cherish the wrench
of the unseen silken thread that
links your heart to mine

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A hot Sunday afternoon by the Indian Ocean

as sleek sinews writhe
salty sweat streaks gleaming coffee-coloured skin
warm breezes sway tall palm trees
setting off the whisper-whisper rhythm
and blind fingers grasp while mouths open
waves undulate inwards
finally touching the shoreline
each swell
greater than the last

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Like a flower

Like a flower
His mind unfurls
At the thought of her
Unbidden
Unwelcome
Reminiscences tumble through
His unguarded mind
His soul
Words unspoken
Deeds undone
His world unravelled
Too late
He struggles
To halt the tide
Powerless
Memories overwhelm him
Pushing him to the edge
He cries out
None to hear him
See his pain
He is alone
Empty
And
Incomplete

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Silence

She sits there where she can see your eyes
Fill with faithless tears
She sits close to hear your hushed voice
Murmur words of sweetness and love to another
Desiccated lips stricken in silence
She says nothing
A smouldering flame spreads beneath her skin
A feverish ague shakes her body
She says nothing
Teardrops sting her eyes
She sees nothing
Her soul clenched in sadness
Her spirit broken
She feels nothing
In her ears a deafening roar yet
She hears nothing but
The thousand chimes
Of a rupturing heart

And still she says nothing

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Love song

Love is like rain gracefully and softly
Falling
On the arid landscape where the secret
Torments of our souls dwell

Soothing
Purifying
Reviving
Washing

Away our sorrows and pain
Leaving us refreshed

Love is like a cool breeze lightly and gently

Fanning

The sultry sweltering terrain where our broken and
Anguished spirits reside

Cooling
Calming
Consoling

Allowing us to breathe
And our poor
Foolish
Hearts to sing and to
Love
Anew

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Wishes

WERE your heart a flower
In a desolate wasteland
It would bloom
Beautiful and untamed
To give me joy
And infinite bliss

WERE your spirit a star
Shimmering
In the dark of night
I would make it
My shining bright
Guiding light
When my way was lost

WERE your soul a book
I could tenderly hold and
Carefully read
Your dreams
I would discover
Make them alive

WERE your soul a book
I could lovingly read
Your wishes I would
Learn
To make them true

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