So, she took her first gulp of air
At the age of one she was in care
Father in prison, mum nowhere
"She's got something wrong with her heart"
they told her.
"That's why she doesn't love you,
that's why she can't keep you."
Now she's six sat in a room with a judge.
"Why didn't he wear his wig?"
She has to decide whether she
wants to live with the bearded man
and the woman in the apricot dress
she said yes.
Seven now in her room
Toys and clothes thrown everywhere
Sat there in shock hugging her legs.
Slowly she stands, goes to the mirror
Lifts up the back of her top.
There she can see a thin red weal
slowly turning white.
Heavy wet tears fall from her eyes
She wipes them away quickly
Lest they see her cry.
Footsteps, footsteps on the landing
Quick turn the light off, turn the light off.
Too late the door's open.
"I told you to go to sleep hours ago
turn over move your hands
get them out of the way
Right from now on you won't
Have a light, goodnight."
She buries her head and tries
Not to think of the pain.
Laid there in the darkness
What if the monsters came?
She's running away, "faster, faster."
"What do you want in your sandwiches,
shall I pack your suitcase?"
So she doesn't go far only to the park.
She swings higher and higher into the sky
"Let go, let go," slowly she uncurls her
fingers from the chains, "This time go on this time."
For a second, just for a second she lets go
Then she grips the chains
Tighter than ever before.
It's getting dark; it's starting to rain
She hasn't even got her coat.
Slowly she walks back
Her feet like lead her tummy feels sick.
The house comes into view that house
Her house her room her own room.
If only she could get in without being seen
She could go round the back
Clamber on the pile of bricks and and
"What do you want?"
"I just wanna come home
I just want to come home."
Being all you want to be
For you meant the world to me
Would be good to set you free
Being all you want to be
Maybe you could not believe
See you smiling in my sleep
Poetry - Novel Moves to Montmartre By Patrick Henry
Place Cliché high on city squalor reeks of Henry Miller or Henri Toulouse- Lautrec,
And one character here come-lately. I invent myself in a cheap attic
Down Rue Barbes, Street of Beards, at times assuming the guise
Poetry - Let's Blow Up America By Patrick Henry
Stan Freeberg writes the scenario, Tom Lehrer does the songs,
"Let's Blow Up America", best musical since Springtime for Hitler won the gongs,
When Jews of Manhattan broke a leg to get hot tickets to catch
Poetry - The Fallen By David Morris
The church bell tolls
It's heard 61 times
In honour of those who have fallen
In honour of those who gave their lives.
Those who battled for us
They won us our freedoms
Remember those who did that
Poetry - Jimmy By Shaun Heesom
Jimmy was a Corporal, he went to fight in France
Ellis only had one leg, so couldn't really dance
Aunt Ada came with Ellis, her house so dark 'n' grim
"Come into the parlour", and me Dad shoved me in
Laura worked in a butter factory, on the banks of the Hull
Jimmy shaved in an enamel bowl, Laura kept it full
Inside an air raid shelter,
Poetry - I Confess By Mike Watts
Coming home one Friday night
Scranning burgers and half pissed
Me and a mate stopped to talk to three prossies
All smoking in the doorway of a charity shop.
"What would I get for a quid?"
Me mate said belching and flicking onion
Poetry - Trouble At Number Ten (a.ka. my next home) By Daphne Liver
I find him in the kitchen
angrily carving potatoes into polygons,
because he feels at fifty three
that he's washed up already.
Beads of sweat now slide
from where creases of smiles once shone.
He is singed by age like a tree -
Poetry - Public Display of Sandwich By The Mouths of Madness
Chilling choking on bits of bamboo
Cold frustrated stomachs fucked too
Vast islands of clover in the
Grass always grew.
But in the winter
The thistles so small
Poetry - The Final Scapegoat By Patrick Henry
From dope-peddling terrorist dens where the late Taliban
Blew up everything they hated out of all proportion,
Another lark to test lads in the closed season can be
The Afghan's ancient sport of Buzzkashi.
Misheard as 'Bush-catchy' it is unpopular in Washington,
Where George dreads another presidential assassination.
But this lines up teams of
Poetry - Shove It By Shaun Heesom
If I dreamed a new dream and
I've dreamed a few then let the new dream
Be that old dream I once dreamed of you!
If I speak unspoken, words I've never spoke before let
Those words be spoken in a way I've
Often Spoke before!
Poetry - The Land of The Free By Del Abe Jones.
On Independence Day this year
We'll wave our Flag, salute and cheer
We'll thank all those who've gone before
And those today, we send to War.
We'll think about what Freedom's cost
Those who fought and those we lost
Poetry - She Can See The World From Petrin Hill By Tom Gant
Yonder Summa! Green faerie queen
my thoughts are your own, in thinking.
Raise a finger to edge a table
whilst I raise a glass, dear as crystal.
Sugar revolution; coat yourself in
crowds of bubbles and linger long
and loud as you desire. Smoke:
Poetry - Feast of Violence (At Scarborough in The Fall) By Patrick Henry
Time of mist and pumpkin-lamps Keats might call fall of the year.
Ten days and two centuries back, twenty-first October,
Five thousand sailors, one called Nelson, died at Trafalgar.
Feasts of violence make dates upon the calendar.
Stick a pointed hat on an excited child.
Black-paint-daub their face,
Poetry - An Un-Comic Poem By Shep
I thought about writing a comic poem
But I couldn't find anything funny
I put pen to paper several times
But still couldn't earn my money
I though about people falling down
And kept repeating the word 'wiggle'
Poetry - Test of Character By Patrick Henry
From Afghanistan comes word of fair play and decency
From the visiting President of the MCC,
That the Jihad desperadoes and Kamikaze ghouls
Have given way to cricket-mad flannelled-fools.
For the influx of this dose of common-sense.
Our wise Wisden man says
Poetry - The Looking-Glass War By Patrick Henry
Fort Polk could steal headlines from Baghdad and Guantanamo.
A camp down in Dixie will become heroic as The Alamo.
It rehearses scenarios in line for Middle-Eastern war
GIs are tested out by all-comers down there.
Amputee veterans of Pearl Harbour, Korea and Vietnam
Replay their parts of war
Poetry - Thirst By Mike Watts
Sprawled like a victim
I shrink on the heat of the bed.
Rattle beneath my window.
Glass shrieks across concrete
As young voices drip,
Go forth and multiply