Category: Jeremy Corbyn
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Songs from our Seclusion (congratulations, Keir Starmer)
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What can poetry offer our enforced Corvid-19 seclusion, this locked-in time of question, tension, upset and loss, this desert time ? In some eras and cultures, poetry has played and still plays a major role in the community’s life. In others, barely any. And only partly does that depend on how good the poets are.…
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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.…
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Where the Hoodlums Are
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The stanza was written and uploaded on the day the UK left the EU, January 31st, 2020. The picture is of a tower built in Victorian times in belated tribute to the great William Tyndale. It stands on the edge of the Cotswold escarpment, overlooking the Severn estuary. The lovely photograph was taken by Derek…
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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…
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Parrot’s in his Tower – and That’s All, Folks
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This stanza was written on the day after Mr Johnson’s election victory on December 12th, 2019. It will be the last stanza of “Parrot Addenda,” rounding off this series of 164 stanzas. It does not mean the Brexit story is over, of course. There’s plenty more to come. It just means that the situation is…
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The Casting of the Parrot’s Vote
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And this piece was written on election night, a second night of pause and waiting, with the chill moon again prominent and beautiful overhead. We walked home after casting our votes, our act tiny power, our tiny power of action. We had done what we could, and put our very sceptical crosses against the name…
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The Parrot Looks Up at the Moon
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I wrote this stanza the night before the UK General Election on December 12th. In my part of the country, the moon was very clear that cold December night, and had been for several nights. If not full, then very nearly so. The electorate had a profoundly disheartening choice and a victory for the Progressives,…