In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

Category: culture

  • How to Speak in Times of Clamour

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    A long time ago, I went away to Greece and spent three months there alone in a hut, facing the rock pictured above. By now, I had lived a youth and much of an adulthood and this was a time for reflection, in case I could make some sense of all that living, never to…

  • The Beast Outside the Citadel

    Posted:

    … continue reading

  • Counting

    Posted:

    This poem seems to follow on a bit from the previous one uploaded here. But whereas I wrote “I Insist my Ribs…” over three years ago, “Counting” has been written in the last few days. I have a vague idea of what was in my mind as I wrote this latest poem. And looking at…

  • Poems in Memoriam in Time for Lent

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    I am uploading another collection of poems here. I am also adding it to the collections listed down the right hand side of this blog’s home page. “Another” collection, but not a new one. Some of its poems were written several years ago, although every year, I check them over and might revise them. They…

  • Britain’s Return to Health

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      I want to talk about the British Labour Party which – despite everything – still occupies the ground I look to for the beginning of this nation’s regeneration and return to health. But “ground” is one thing ; the withered and stunted vegetation I see presently over-running and littering that ground, is another. To…

  • Cat Vies with Hard Drive for my Soul

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    Our race has re-made the world to be a reflection of our own chaotic inner lives and processes. We’ve fashioned our environment in such a way that it has become our self-portrait (if we dare to look). Perhaps we see ourselves for the first time, when we look out on the world we have made.…

  • High Noon is Nearly Upon Us. Where’s the Sheriff ?

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    Around the world, the hoodlums and outlaws are running amok, in their suits of armour made of lies. By contrast, the sheriffs seem downcast, overwhelmed and on the run. I feel downcast and overwhelmed, too. Might it mean that I’m a sheriff, in disguise ? But there is no star in my cupboard. The picture…

  • The Parrot Studies the Human Brain

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    This stanza was written just minutes before it was announced that Mr B. Johnson, sacked twice in the past for being a liar, had just become Prime Minister of the UK. He had been elected to that position, not by the country, but by members of the Tory Party, some of whom had only just…