Looking backward through our archives
shows how soon we will move on
Grow fatigued of graphs and figures
that we’ve heard and seen so long.
By the time that true accounting
is unearthed for us to see
We’ll be on the next agenda
in our sketchy history.
So I write four simple verses
for the ones that are denied
The simple dignity of counting
in our losses nationwide.
May the twisting of the figures
and refutal of the right
Never hide the human tragedy
of those we sadly lose tonight.
When dampened ambition wanders aimlessly in sombre dreams, pursued by hallucination, consternation on its brow, dark thoughts invading aching minds,
will we stamp, dress in falsehoods, denial and blue light, scream it was never so before, anoint ourselves with indignation, become restless and uneased? Or will we listen to the earth, offer what we can, and simply wait? When strong friends turn inward, holding grief like a missing child in arms, rocking through the days, repeating self-affirming words without conviction, crying for lost loves in the night, will we unhitch two metre swords, armour up in mask and gloves as if to run the rascal through, dancing with our glancing blade to music from slippery silver tongues, rage flashing in our eyes? Or will we listen to the earth, offer what we can, and simply wait?
In the warm sun we’ll go walking
though we’ll not be arm in arm
We are echoes of each other
keeping loved ones safe from harm
Though we’re distant, we’re together
and I feel the path you’re on
When I dance my solo rhythm
to the sound left by your song.
May my lonely tears flow into
the footsteps you leave behind,
And where waking dreams are waiting
may you seek me out, to find
Though the world we knew is broken,
and we are tired and sleep evades,
Our hope is quietly dancing
and love’s echo does not fade.
Looking without sight
Milk bottles taped to tired eyes
World view contorted.
Ripping them aside
Reveals broken detritus Unstable footholds.
© Julia Dean-Richards
No hiccups are heard
alcohol prohibited: Dry January ✔
Whilst on a diet
I smell porridge in the air:
But do not eat it.
Christmas comes and passes by
But stars still shine in our night sky And that good wish is here to stay To hold us steady on our way.
Remember how we all sat round
With friends of old or newly found And opened gifts with open hearts And cooked good food and played our parts?
Now take those feelings on with you
And find what we can really do With Christmas wishes through the year To make another star appear.
What would Christmas look like
If we could really choose? What would we embrace as ours and what be pleased to lose?
Who would we invite to sit
at the table where we live ? What would be our Christmas gift If we had all to give?
When we turned on the radio
What Christmas song would play? And who would share our morning When we woke on Christmas day?
I wish a thoughtful Christmas
and hope the angel sings and sends a star to guide us all What ever next year brings.
It’s a winter-torn end to a toryful year
and it could well get worse in the UK, we fear,
for amidst all the lights is a circle of woes,
which we can not ignore, as its shape looms and grows.
Well it’s my friend who’s hungry and it’s my friend who’s cold and it’s my friend who’s suffering because she is old, and it’s my friend who’s broken by caring too much, ’cause this hard right wing government is so out of touch.
Their policies rankle, but they’ll never care
for the people who live on this island we share,
Their philosophy teaches that we are to blame
for our own sorry loss in their terrible game.
So tonight as I hang up my Christmas tree star
I have only one wish which will traverse afar:
May the people who care for those under my tree
put a cross in the box of the Labour Party.