Still pink tinted shapes
decorate this cold blue sky.
A white blanket covers the pavement, the street, the conifer, the dead tree / sleeping
no warfare is present here.
When the pregnant woman from no.10
slams the door and walks,
she almost slips on the ice &
off to work she slides.
The snowy hillside on the horizon
picturesque with brown steeple
of abandoned church sticking out,
the peace is breached
when two Chinese children,
the girl clutching fluffy
black and white Dalmatian
her brother’s hand
but he falls heavily
As it lay in the coal coloured
rectangular bowl gleaming it caught
my eye amongst fresh green apples
and yellowish pears speckled brown –
but I had to catch this train
& upon return a few days later
the tangerine was not orange
but smothered in mould green,
once gleaming it is thrown
onto the compost.
in this grade 2
dank and musty
forget the imagery
I’ll devise this poem
a full stop
the page –
the temporal smile-
a tall charred tower
parades for eyes who wish to view.
& though I wasn’t there
people burnt in their rooms
while others scampered
some sought relief
jumping high balconies –
children, mothers, fathers, friends
as a rabid fire uproots
a community and shines
a spotlight on a nation
(the richest will not cater for it’s poor).
cladding on the Tower,
and a Hotpoint fridge
stirs this negligible nightmare.
imprints on the psyche
but Brexit and May
storm back on the agenda.
the media complies
failed safety checks
but others want to know
though I wasn’t there
a resident said
“we are not angry –
we are traumatized.”
committed to root out funding extremists,
emboldened by Donald Trump’s
war dance – Saudis and allies blockade Qatar –
in Harrods, the Shard and Chelsea Barracks,
she bathes in swathes of capital.
but isolated and the critical investments
prompts London to ogle possibilities?
Golden leaves colour the grey cold floor I walk on pondering. Born of Jamaicans plundered. My patois perplexes & my complexion: milk chocolate brown under the jaded sun. Perfectly bespoke – broken. I seethe on remembering my ancestor chanting a frantic Wolof song. He bashed his drum cementing his tongue to the roots. On the grainy pale beach lined by baobabs – I and I stood by but couldn’t understand the lingua. You know wa mi bloodclart mean?
it throws her campaign off guard – again
so she does not measure the drapes of the White House –
yet transparency lacks when it comes to Hillary
almost falling off her plane as FBI probe
release of damning new emails? New Hampshire roars
that once in high office a “criminal may be indicted.”
the cryptic announcement blinds the people –
Republicans rejoice as God wearily peers down.