Harvest

Tourists take snaps in the gateway;

they don’t see him,

the man down there

on the stony ground,

cross-legged;

his big grey coat, woolly hat, crusty eyes,

a few coins on a cloth in front.

They don’t see,

their gaze doesn’t lower to him.

They all raise their eyes

to the Cathedral arch.

I walk into their shot,

to drop a coin on his cloth.

Will they notice him now,

this new beggar in the Penniless Porch?

Now that their picture is marred?

Or will they Photoshop us out,

so we don’t spoil the view?

From the bustling market

the scents of food drift --

hot spices, chocolate, herbs and

box after box of new rosy apples.

Stalls full of trinkets for the well-off

glint in cold sunshine.

A woman crouches on a low stool,

her hands held out.

The brown, cracked skin of her arms,

huge skirts gathered round her ankles.

She mutters unknowable words

as she shakes her little bag of coins,

her open mouth showing missing teeth.

But they don’t hear her sad call,

those who pass by.

And there’s a man outside the shoe shop

 – lowest price £69 a pair, on sale.

He hopes for a few spare coins;

and maybe a pair of cheap boots for winter.

He moves from foot to foot,

his quiet dance fighting the cold.

But they don’t see the rhythm of his steps,

those who pass by.

Who notices?

These three grey people,

overlooked in the bright melee

of the lush harvest-time market day.

This, in England’s smallest city,

where the rich take photos,

but they do not see,

and the camera always lies.

(Penniless Porch, Wells, revisited 12.10.13

read at The Cellar Bards, 29.11.13)

White Ribbons

The White Ribbon Campaign focuses on men and women working together to end violence against women and girls.

It is an international campaign, which promotes two weeks of action every year and includes November 25^th, International White Ribbon Day for the Eradication of Violence Against Women.

In Cardigan on Monday, November 25^th, West Wales Women’s Aid and Small World Theatre are staging an event to release loads of white balloons. It’s at 1pm at Small World Centre.

In Carmarthen there is a Candlelight Walk on Thursday, November 28th, starting at 5pm at the Market Clock Tower.  The walk will finish at the Guildhall steps, where there will be a reflection to remember women who have died as a result of male violence, followed by some speakers.  Refreshments will be served at the offices of Carmarthen Domestic Abuse Services and Hafan Cymru, at 5-6, Queens Street.

White Ribbon day is about showing the positive role that men play in preventing violence against women.

Men wearing the white ribbon are saying loud and clear that they will never condone, take part in or remain silent about domestic abuse against women.

I wrote this last year for a Women’s Aid poetry reading event:

My Secret Place

You can hit me with your words,

you can slap me with your insults,

bruise me with your fingers,

break my face with your fist.

You can make me ...  make me.

You can stop me, you can lock me in,

cut me with your knives,

break my bones with your hands,

throw me with your drunkenness;

accuse me, refuse me, abuse me.

*

You smash my head into the door frame,

blood pours from my nose.

I dare not cry, I dare not look at you,

I dare not.

Blood splashes the wall and the floor,

my dress.

Grab my dress,

rip the cotton from shoulder to waist,

clench your fist on my breast.

I swallow cries of pain,

humiliation.

A punch in the stomach, I double up,

your knee hits my chin,

I fall. You kick. I hold my head.

Please stop please stop please stop

You take my hand, place it on the floor and

you slam the door;

bones crack.

I am so far away now I do not feel the pain.

You kick me in the back. Kidneys.

You slam the door as you leave, turn the lock.

I am going for a drink, you say,

you have had enough.

You did this yesterday,

you will do it tomorrow,

and the day after, you will never stop.

You can do all this, but you will not win.

You can beat me and rape me,

but you can’t defeat me.

I have a secret place in me

that even you cannot reach.

Here rests a tiny hope,

a small knot of inspiration.

In here I keep my little store of love,

and my cunning and my planning.

Here, is my tiny power,

nurtured by a scrap of hope.

I will be free of you.

http://www.whiteribboncampaign.co.uk/

The Invisible Child

You saw your mother raped and beaten,
not once, but again, again and again.
You saw him cut your mother.
They knew you saw,
they heard your cry;
but they did not listen.
They did not help you,
we don’t know why.

They saw the bruises, the black eyes,
the contusions on your skull.
They saw you eat dirt,
they saw you steal food,
they saw you eat waste from filthy bins,
they saw you eat beans planted in the earth.
They saw that your body was a bag of bones
and they saw that your bones were broken.
They saw you forced to swallow salt,
they saw you half drowned;
but they listened to your mother’s lies,
not to you.

At four years old you weighed 10 kilos,
27 ‘incidents’ required police involvement.

They saw you,

Daniel, before his troubles began.

they all saw you;
they all heard you,
yet you were
invisible,
unseen,
unnoticed,
a hungry ghost with no voice.
You suffered in a starved silence,
until you broke.
You died, in Britain, in 2012
Now, only now, we listen to your cry.

(Daniel Pelka, b. 15.07.2007, d. 3.03.2012)

*The figure never changes. One in four households in the UK experience domestic abuse. Most often there is an invisible child, at least one.

http://www.coventrytelegraph.net/news/coventry-news/daniel-pelka-investigation-tragic-four-year-old-6029707

http://www.coventrytelegraph.net/news/coventry-news/daniel-pelka-review-what-report-6037809

http://www.coventrylscb.org.uk/dpelka.html

http://www.coventrytelegraph.net/news/coventry-news/police-officers-called-out-repeatedly-6037853

The Hunter

Breathing stops,

the moment stills.

There he is, above -

the hunter.

Out of nowhere,

watching, waiting,

suspended,

magically held in the clear air.

Breathe again as

wingtips quiver against forever blue.

He hangs, flawlessly stable.

Eyes search the ground;

this singular concentration

has one purpose - prey.

The great wide sky

he shares with others, far up high;

distant gulls and contrails,

but he sees only the heather,

and the meat within,

and me, watching the watcher.

Gorse scent on the hillside

is precursor of Spring.

The church bell just shows,

above the cliff.

The only sound, a

tiny stream.

Waterfalls in miniature

pour over rocks,

to reach the beach,  far below.

But the hunter,

only he,

is the absolute grace of this place.

(Kestrel over Mwnt, April 2013. )

©2013JackieBiggs

 'The Hunter' appears with 23 other poems in the booklet PENfro Poets 2013.
All the poems were written by members of PENfro Poets, a group that began life at a poetry workshop at the PENfro Book Festival, 2012 at Rhosygilwen, Pembrokeshire.
Published by Menter Rhosygilwen, with financial assistance from the PENfro Book Festival, PENfro Poets 2013 is available to order by post (£2 a copy, plus £1.50 p&p) by emailing me at :

 spreadthewords2013-abc@yahoo.co.uk

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