Strange how poetry comes to us sometimes. A friend posted on Facebook a poem full of happy thoughts, incidents in her day.I wasn't going to write about Jo Cox MP, murdered in her constituency while she was doing her job. But my friend's poem started me off. At times like this, maybe we should all be writing up those happy moments, about our own little lives. It's what we have to give. We will always need poetry to tell us the truth, to give us honest reactions.
I was pleased that the wonderful webzine I am not a silent poet chose to post up my poem. I reproduce it here for the record.
Please go here to see more work by poets that has been inspired by abuse of all kinds:
https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/
The day after that
man killed Jo Cox
I ate strawberries
for breakfast,
because they were fat
and red
and ready with the sweetness of joy.
I walked to the top of the hill
and saw the sea, grey and cold,
but breathing, below,
all the while
on its incoming tide over endless sands,
rolling always and forever.
I sat on a seat
in the sun
and emptied my mind,
watched the waves --
sheets of steel
rolling on.
I listened to Bach played on guitar,
massive concertos
pitching
in six stunning strings.
I spoke to a young woman,
who I had known when she was a girl,
and we talked about her glorious baby,
due soon,
on some happy day.
I bought a new novel,
to read later …
That anticipation
that it is there,
the words waiting,
for me
when I am ready,
sometime,
this summer.
I picked herbs from the garden –
mint and parsley,
and watched the cat rolling
in the catnip,
quite off her face.
I saw the swallows
scything over the fat meadow,
gathering feed
for their young;
and I thought of life,
this life,
how we
have to keep breathing,
over our own endless sands.
I sent you a text,
on a pretext,
just to make sure
that you were there,
still there.
And I read a poem
on Facebook,
by a friend who said,
we have to do this,
because
however bad the world is
there is love
and light
and you can't take that away
from us.
And I wrote new poetry,
about love,
because that is
all there is.
Love, love, love …
