Notes on Remembrance? Forget It!

 

My use of the word Pogrom in my poem is deliberate, not flippant. I used it to draw attention to its use by lying news / propaganda outlets with reference to the recent situation in Amsterdam, a deliberately emotive and offensive trivialisation of the horrific reality of pogroms in Russia, and of events such as Kristallnacht. Its use there, was a cynical...

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There’s a saying around here: “Them uz ‘ave, will ‘ave,” meaning: Those who have, will have. It’s always been true, and is  moreso these days.

 

Them uz ‘ave, will ‘ave, ‘cos thi’ve got cleawt’,

Bur if th’art cowd n’ ‘ungry, on’ gets blotto,

Tha’ll get cawed neawt bu’ feckless workshy leawts,

‘Cos “Aw’m aw reet Jack” ‘s allus bin their motto.

 

Aye, them uz ‘ave, will ‘ave, ‘c...

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https://youtu.be/iTV6F3lTU7o

The accompanying video is of Emma Kirkby (an old family favourite of ours) singing “Dido’s Lament”  by Henry Purcell. It’s one of the saddest pieces of English music I’ve ever heard, and so, is most appropriate.

I’ve modelled my poem around Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night”, on the premise that the night we currently face is not, in any sense ...

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Danger, extremists!

Cry genocide enablers,

Springtime for Hitler.

 

 

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They claim he died

as act of protest

against the “war”.

Tools of the fascists,

gutter press

they lie and lie

whilst innocents die.

“I will no longer

be complicit

in genocide”,

were his words.

“Free Palestine”

he screamed out

in his agony,

at least three times.

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I saw the blood run down the walls

Within the children's tears

I heard the parliamentary halls

Resound with warring cheers

 

I felt the shock of bomb & gun 

Within gasps of anticipation 

I saw their prey run & run

From nation killing nation 

 

I drew my scythe & licked my lips

A hefty load to swallow 

I told the ferryman, he needed ships

For, they will b...

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The world keeps shouting 

whilst, the quiet

sit in despair, witnessing 

the mould & rot spread

Trying not to Inhale 

greedy spores that rot hope

Exhaling a desperate,  empty foreboding 

‘Times they are a-changin’’

Echoes from an old radio somewhere 

A white flag drifts past, stained red

We rub our eyes

But, there's fire in the sky

And death all around. 

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In the rubble, he found an arm

It was very small, it wore a charm

An olive tree, on a silver chain

His little girl had one the same

But, that was attached to the whole of her?

Perhaps, the tears made his vision blur

He gently kissed it, laying it down 

And, began again to search around.

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Your Jewish Voice for Labour

is another voice for me,

a voice for cooperation,

a voice for good, not ill;

your Jewish Voice for Peace,

asks no more blood be spilled,

let your protests’ sound increase;

speak up my sisters, brothers,

for all humanity,

speak out against vile smears,

against hypocrisy,

speak out against apartheid,

Mandela was correct:

our freedom...

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No, Board of Deputies of British Jews,

you do not speak for her;

neither does the tool-maker’s son,

he does not speak for her;

nor you, Hotovely, you don’t speak for her…

 

…for that brave Jewish lady with a conscience

whose family died in The Holocaust,

who, in London, engaged in peaceful protest,

was harassed, arrested and detained

for twenty-four hours by a bored-...

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https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/home-secretary-faces-uproar-over-entry-spanish-neo-nazi-far-right-extremist-britain-1719878

Her Deathstyle Choice!

 

The red red rose of Lancashire, it’s red for love,

the poppy, flower of Palestine which gives me hope,

the fragile Armistice poppy, of hope, not hate,

trodden in the mud by Braverman’s Nat C. friends,

by the Nazi hate-mob...

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It’s with a heavy heart that I make this post, overwhelmed as I am, with emotions ranging from despair to incandescent rage about the tragic events in Israel and Palestine. I can’t find any helpful words to describe how I feel, so I’ll leave you with this.

It’s a beautiful love poem/song which I think is sung here in Hebrew, with what I think is possibly music of Arabic influence?

The sourc...

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https://youtu.be/vqJHUkOTLOQ

From the frying pan

Of lying thieving scumbags,

To Tory-lite fire;

The tool-maker’s son,

Palestine’s blood on his hands,

Purging our Red Rose.

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                     The  Wall.. by  Robert  Eunson.
This is the place where dove's are nailed to stone..
Where the words we exist to resist, are written on the wall and where the spray can is mightier than the sword.
The year's of endless suffering..the check points..the land grab.the ilegal settlements.
The fear on both sides..The hate on both sides .The death on both sides.             
Th...

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An Angel Bathes In Tears

Diniel rested for a second
and turned his eyes away
from those that he was caring for
and in that moment all was lost.
Now he bathes in the cascades
of acidic human tears
that flood the world with grief.
Erosive and corrosive
at the passing of infant souls
in a war that has no meaning
in a world that has no morals.
Now his dainty angel features
disappear unt...

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His Mother makes them both a snack

Jamal, he sits out in the back

Upon an empty old rice sack

Flip-flops and bottle tops

 

In Gaza, fun for girls and boys

Are simple things that make no noise

For Jamal they're his favourite toys

Flip-flops and bottle tops

 

He plays outside in rubble dust

His Mother smiles and is not fussed

It's safer there but only just

...

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Let us pretend 

that we haven’t been this way before

too recently and too often

that this is the way forward

that it is the road to the peace

which eluded you when you sent 

planes and tanks and men 

into Lebanon, Ramallah, Jenin,

Gaza, Gaza, Gaza.

 

Let us pretend

that this time will be different 

that this time will be worth it

that you can tot up the lives...

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This is not an anti-semetic poem, or anti - Israeli poem.

This is a protest poem, in protest at the violation of human rights in attacking ships laden with aid and medical supplies bound for Gaza.

Israel has the right to exist... fact.

So does Palestine... fact.

Israel cannot starve out the ...

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