In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

Category: Spin

  • Word Play

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    “What is the purpose of poetry ?” I ask myself. Sometimes I find this question simple to answer. And sometimes the answer itself  is simple. The purpose of poetry is to work.… continue reading

  • I See Everywhere the False

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    I thought this was true in 2014, when it was written. I did not know then that the truth can become truer.… continue reading

  • Counting

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    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…

  • Might Labour be the Force to Renew UK Politics ?

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    Our democratic politics isn’t working and, in my view, its dysfunction is one of the major causes of our present national crisis. In so many ways, our political structures and democratic processes – not just here in the UK, but manifestly in other countries too – are under attack and also in question. We have…

  • Anthem for a Lying Toad

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    The UK’s Brexit government have been showing us their true mettle in recent weeks. Following their disastrous response to the Covid-19 virus, they are itching to move on to enterprises more to their liking, but equally vulnerable to their incompetence. It has been said that “The Sleep of Reason Brings Forth Monsters” (it’s the title…

  • The Widow

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      Here is another poem of loss and it’s called “The Widow” (the title links to it). I wrote it some years ago, in sorrow for the grief of the person concerned, but also in awe at how she voiced her bereavement, the words she reached for, and the way she flung them out, time…

  • The Deployment of Force

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    Still on the subject of feet and their deployment, I ask myself this question : where am I to stand in the hallways of The Lie ? Here is my answer : on the hyphen between I and Thou, my surfboard in the endless storm.… continue reading

  • 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…