Long Neighbourhoods Poems
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A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.
Last seen in the forest
These sisters three
Sightings in the Nordic region
Ice masses in melting spree
Glaciers that roamed
Like reindeer herds
Their speed of demise
Had never been heard
Lowlands in countries
Lost to the mass
Populations shifting
Like herds on the grass
Climates changing
Overnight
The dangers out there
The worlds in blight
Floods encroaching
Power Stations
Blackouts throughout
Many nations
Events are happening
All the world over
These sisters three
In their evil of clover
The waters rise
As many animals drown
Diseased neighbourhoods
In our cities and towns
Carcases floating
Bloated, infested
The might of the right
Once again to be tested
For many generations
The world is in fight
Once again we unite
To turn black into white
First part was " Their Ritual in the Forest "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy4.php
The words that follow are not so grand
Because of The Streets on our countries land
By day they are light, lived and free
As night fades they change you'll see
Community spirit grows and sprouts
As the evening draws, neighbourhoods ooze doubts
The person you seen hours before
Is not the person you will come to adore
Gangs pimps in a darkened craze
Can't stand the light in a living way
They need the shadows to hide their souls
To capture the innocent in their putrid folds
Prostituted girls, our sisters and nieces
Become use able pieces
Nephews and sons, given guns
Do a deed and become one
The slime that rule, cowards are they
Hire big boys to do their say
Taken in, by dollars and booze
Where once they were someone
What respect they lose
Why should the neighbourhood
Not be able to roam
In daylight or night
After all it's their home
The scum all around
Should disperse and flee
Out of The Streets
Of our towns and cities
If it's ever a road you have to go down
We should have the right to clear our town
Vigilante or law, what ever to be
Its our right
For The Streets to be free
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life.php
We can’t make this up.
We can’t justify the tears.
We’ll struggle to ask for their forgiveness in our prayers.
We can’t hide away the doubt and the fears.
We’ve lost so many now.
They do not seem to care.
We’ve seen families ripped apart because the promised; ‘the promised’ was never even there.
Where do we stand?
Where do the dark thoughts go?
Where does the healing hand hide?
Where did the dignity, the empathy, the humility, the kindness of our nation go?
We’ve seen our neighbourhoods change.
Crime seems to be picking up the pace.
Rights removed from our lives because profit and power shine brighter than the children whose parents think xenophobia is ace!
Where will it lead?
What will it spark?
When will the sun shine on the ‘sunlit uplands’ forever in the dark.
Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.
Truth and honesty do not politicians do.
They’ve taken us for fools.
Yes, that’s right…
me and you.
They are nature's gifts to us,
A sign of its benevolence,
Her hands have sown and nurtured them,
They are to beautify our landscape.
They are evidence of nature's dexterity,
She watches over them with keen interest,
They are in her embrace,
They sprout spreading out their blossomed boughs.
All around us, they abound,
In our neighbourhoods, they can be found,
There's an aura of hope around them,
Some have weathered unfavourable climes.
We have lightly esteemed them,
We have discarded them from our communities,
They are not prized by us
as they are by nature.
Let’s heed the clarion call,
Restore the fallen,
Let’s be change makers.
Let's be nature drivers.
March 18, 2023.
Pick - A - Title, Vol. 35 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibe.
East Berlin
Before the wall fell
Under the lamppost
In silhouette tell
So still they stood
To a window they look
They put the fear of death
In scare ridden spook
These Ministry shadows
Who haunted neighbourhoods
Persecuting the weak
Because they know they could
After the wall fell
It became their demise
This Stasi, State Security
In all out despise
Many people died
Or simply disappeared
By these silhouettes under the lamppost
That a nation feared
After the wall fell
They were hunted and traced
This Stasi, State Security
Have finally been erased
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/places.php
Hashtags.
Used to promote to get more attraction to a desired cause
To create a movement , to even open doors
But - like most things it has its flaws
Used to manipulate for narrative control
Stories of real life trauma
Plastered on social media
To be auctioned of and sold
To the highest bidder- usually a politician
Their favourites, those that contain stories of racism
Not because they care
But for emotional manipulation
Used to make them look like a 'diverse hero'
Claiming to love everyone
Yet create policies for a mandatory stop and patrol
'Coincidentally' in only black neighbourhoods
Most hashtags aren't even harmful
If used for the greater good, it can be very useful
A way for slogans to become a movement
One example - #blacklivesmatter
To boost, to help go viral
To become a worldwide sensation
After all you can never have enough people
To tackle this centuries long issue
Yet human nature makes people resentful
When they aren't the centre of attention - when they aren't popular
Usually the oppressors, they can't stand feeling inferior
They'll twist a cause to suit their reputation
After all what's a campaign without deception
What a great idea at St Mary's by the Sea,
Surplus food is offered for free.
Take some out or put yours in
If too old, there's a pig food bin.
Thoughtfully built community cupboard,
Snug shelter for all that is stored.
So, no need to be bored
Look in your hoard!
See if you have something to give
Make someone's life easier to live.
Maybe can swap for a needed lift
Everyday needs a little gift!
Written 22 August 2018
Our neighbourhoods are acting on the light of community caring.
Something I have been envisaging and promoting by living it for decades.
Now the ball is really rolling along!
In the outskirts of London,
a queen started
without a crown.
Born again after
be born in another country.
Slave of himself
and the circunstances.
Knowing about his jewel,
his pride made him dream.
Refused by his origins,
he tried to hid them.
His teeth weren't straight,
he suffered inside.
A unique voice
in the smoky places,
low neighbourhoods,
trying to be heard.
A queen without a crown,
came out to life.
A queen was born again,
he sang the best rock songs.
He was alive, rich and famous.
Lost in the fame, he lost his
crown.
She or he never been encountered.
After all the way he made,
fighting for a crown,
he left with the crown,
being a queen and a big
place in history.
His remarkable moustache,
his songs, his crazy personality.
An inmortal queen close forever to us.
Glory of tandoori story or Brit palette whet reformer korma
Vindaloo or sag aloo woo you or coo crazy about jalfrezi
Gets hazy as things mesh came fresh from Bangladesh
Can’t naysay Indian takeaways most days top performer
Made for Brit eccentric never ever looked a bit authentic
Teach explore each region with its own locavore legion
Preach mountain ranges to cities and fountains changes
Neighbourhoods vocally hooked homegrown locally cooked
See wee chatty seller with natty chapati smothered in gee
Poms popadoms covered with mango glow aplomb or roti
Lentil dahl elemental or experimental flurry of curry in a hurry
Ask a fella stellar biryani actually Indian or factually Pakistani
p.s Oh and no argy bargy about the Raj but do so love a bhaji