this is very pretty hes, i hope you are enjoying your new book let me know what it is like as i am nearly finished "how to paint a dead man" xOriginally Posted by Hes
this is very pretty hes, i hope you are enjoying your new book let me know what it is like as i am nearly finished "how to paint a dead man" x
Home news is depressing today, world news equally so, particularly Somalia's story...one journalist described the humanitarian crisis there as a "vision of hell"...it beggers belief what those poor people have had to endure and provides a tragic juxtaposition to our own domestic issues...observing their pain is to feel sick to the stomach, strangely almost the opposite of hunger....
Satiate
We walked 20 miles to get to the camp at Dadaab,
my child died the day after we got there,
my insides burn with the pain.
We got together and walked into Clapham,
it was a buzz,
this time we're gonna call the shots.
I had to slaughter our donkey, it was our only transport.
But how else could I feed my seven children.
There ain’t no jobs man, I can’t go to college,
this is anger coming out, payback.
I left my youngest on the road, she was so thin she couldn’t walk,
I had no choice, it would have meant losing the others.
Where are the parents?
Children aged 9, 10 and 11 are being allowed to roam the city centre.
We tell the world, but what is the point in telling the world if it doesn’t listen.
When a brick came through my window, no one was here to defend me.
It is worse when they arrive at the camp.
You see them begging on the streets to get some food and shelter
At least now some of the children have moved from “skeletal” to “malnourished”.
The young lads smashed the door down, the windows,
one put their hands round my neck and asked me “where’s the money”,
they have taken everything, my business is gone.
Why are they doing this?
these people are not hungry,
they don’t seem hungry to me.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-14248278
Last edited by freckle; 10-08-2011 at 01:09 AM.
Very well put Freckle. That's exactly how I feel at reading about the riots and then comparing what is happening here with what is happening in the rest of the world. What on earth has our society come to that we have bred a nation of young people that think their rioting & looting is justified? We have fundamental problems here but the majority of people have access to free healthcare, benefits when needed, housing and education. Other people across the world are fighting just to stay alive.
I haven't started it yet :-( I've got another book on the go, 'The Year of the Hare' but I get so tired that I only manage about 2 pages a night. I'll let you know when I get stuck into it though. Have you read Bel Canto? That's a really good book.
She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
Robert Graves
Hiding in plain sight. {Northern Frights.}
I am the prince of the twisted mind,
High functioning remorseless,
Ready to kill whoever i find,
Living next door you'd never guess.
I'm a ghost slashing thru this red riding,
Blood stained like a newborn slick,
In the middle of you all still hiding,
Northerner yorkshireman sociopathic.
Bipolar Boy.
Influenced by David Peace.
Well written Leonidas and very topical!.....
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Peace
Hes I loved your robert graves choice...i finished my book and will try and check out your recommendations x
anybody else bit bored of riot talk yet?
think i'll change the tone a bit...or lower it perhaps? anne sexton was criticised at times for her "confessional " poetic style but i rather like it !.....
The Kiss
by Anne Sexton
My mouth blooms like a cut.
I've been wronged all year, tedious
nights, nothing but rough elbows in them
and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby
crybaby , you fool!
Before today my body was useless.
Now it's tearing at its square corners.
It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot
and see -- Now it's shot full of these electric bolts.
Zing! A resurrection!
Once it was a boat, quite wooden
and with no business, no salt water under it
and in need of some paint. It was no more
than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her.
She's been elected.
My nerves are turned on. I hear them like
musical instruments. Where there was silence
the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this.
Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped
into fire.
Last edited by freckle; 11-08-2011 at 09:59 PM.
Hell, yes! And i'm back to work tomorrow after 2 weeks off, nice poem freckle.
my comisarations steve, i am back on monday after 3 week off, the mere thought of which is making me feel a tad quesy!
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