Throw them ever higher into blue skies to become black smoke and blown particles and do not care about age – infirmity or status of anyone – just soaring margins She turned into flight as sooty confetti A working lift? Is this Heaven? She saw London’s sawtooth lower jaw How cold she felt dropping as...
That waking ear-fill of true birdsong – as if found – was in truth brought on by my flickknife choice – by my cutting at connections to streams and channels full of self-satisfied chattering My re-designed distance from others is freeing me from time’s smother – to clear air and breath – no misty poisons...
I'm lost - Danny Boy -
in this town of my birth -
I'm being pulled apart
by others' decisions -
by the inflexible rulings
.../
It's .. trying to construct
a society around production
for need .. not .. for profit -
.. meeting people's needs ..
I half-quote Tony Benn .../
Would we dig deep shifts in the coughed guts of this land then take home the spat news our livelihoods have gone? Would we vote – stand – to the voiced-charges they made – that our coal industry – our life – is not there – will not pay? Would we shout and argue now...