Friday, 30 June 2017

Poetry Friday 52

Poetry Friday 52
For audio click here

So, it made it through the year, 52 weeks of poetry Friday. And now it is time to announce the end of the project. I will still publish poems on the blog but no longer as a regular feature. Thanks for your support during this project and stay tuned for two big announcements next week.

Three poems for you this week

drip across the city
permeate every crack
seep through the stubbornest of
dry ground.
Chasing away the grey,
the black, the white.
until the city wakes up
saturated in hope.

Runaway train
Runaway train
clattering over tracks,
turning a humdrum journey
into an adventure
a mish mash of coaches,
some luxurious, some lived in,
some coal wagons.
It picked up speed and
veered out of control,
and now it’s run its race,
puffing the last breath of steam,
coughing, spluttering,
slipping into a siding,
and rolling to a halt.

Vivid memories
of a past I’d love to see again.
Moving forwards yet reaching backwards,
to a time before hate, suspicion,
and fake news.
Will I see those days again?
Hope dies last.

So there we are, the end of Poetry Friday. More poetry soon but on an ad hoc basis.

Have a good week.

Thursday, 29 June 2017

Saz Part 2

For audio click here 
For Part one click here
Be warned - strong language.

Saz sat on the back seat cursing herself, she hadn’t even put up a fight.
            “Where the hell are you taking me?” she said, looking at the fields and hedges through the car window. “Hey, are you guys deaf?” She looked around at the three mute men in the car with her. “This can’t be legal, you know? On what grounds are you detaining me?” The car rolled on through the countryside. “Oi, I’m talking to you.” 
She shivered, despite the heat outside,  the car was kept cold.
“At least turn the aircon off,” she said, but no one moved. 
They pulled off the main road and swerved along a country lane for a little while. Saz closed her eyes and thought of Greg. What would he think of her new hair? Would he still love her without her red locks? At least he was safe. Out of the country. He’d tried to convince her to go with him on his latest trip, but she’d decided to stay home, convinced everything would be alright. He had every right to say I told you so, but she knew he wouldn’t. She just wished there was a way to get a message to him.
 She saw the sign for the army base and understood. They turned left and a barrier opened for them, two soldiers lying each side of the road their guns waiting for uninvited guests. They drove up to a courtyard where army lorries were parked and a queue of civilians waited in line, suitcases on the floor around them. Saz was reminded of old war films. Maybe in 60 years’ time they’d make a movie of this.
            “Get out,” one of the men said.
            “Oh, so you can talk,” Saz replied as she climbed out of the car.
            “This way,” she was lead to a low-rise building. “Sit there.” He pointed to a plastic seat and then disappeared through a door to the right.  She was in a portacabin office, with a metal desk and three plastic seats. Behind the desk another mute man stared at his computer.  People came and went through the three doors in the office. It reminded Saz of a Swiss weather house. She didn’t like the look of this place. She felt sick. she wanted to go home. Up until now it had been an adventure, but it was suddenly very real. Her wrists hurt where the cuffs still dug into her. Stay strong for Greg, she told herself. The door opened again and a uniformed man came through. He had a pimply face and looked too young to be a soldier.
            “Sarah Edwards?” he said.
Saz looked around, to see if there was anyone else he could be talking to.
            “Yes,” she said.
            “Come with me.”
The squaddie led Saz through a myriad of doors and corridors until they reached the cells.
            “You fucking whores, you won’t get away with this. You fucking bastards. I’ll fucking tear off your balls.” The female voice echoed down the corridor. Saz hoped she wasn’t put in a cell with whoever it was. “Bastards, Fucking bastards.”
            The solider took Saz’s cuffs off and then opened a door. Saz saw a big black woman standing in the cell.
            “Oh, about bloody time,” the woman said.
            “Sit down, you’re not going anywhere. But I’ve got you a little friend for you to play with.” he pushed Saz into the cell and slammed the door. The two women looked at each other. Saz averting her gaze as quickly as possible. She went to one of the bunks and sat on it, curling her legs up into her chest and wishing Greg was there. 

Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Debs part 2

For audio click here 
For part one click here 
Be warned - strong language.
Debs stayed strewn on the floor for four or five minutes until it became too uncomfortable. She lifted herself up and hauled herself onto one of the benches, where there was just enough room for her. She looked at the neighbours sitting opposite her. They were all staring down at the floor terrified to get eye-contact. Maybe, they were embarrassed for her, she had nothing to be embarrassed about. They should have been embarrassed for themselves. She may as well have been in a sheep transportation lorry. They might have taken away her home, and left her with cuts and bruises but at least she'd put up a fight.
“Sheep,” she said, as the lorry bounced along the street leading them to God knew where. No doubt when they arrived, they'd be herded like animals, given stamps on their ID cards and stars to wear to show they were evacuees. “Don't you care? Don't you care?”
No one looked away from the floor in the same way no one had looked away from Game of Thrones. 
“They've taken our homes,” she said.
“Hey lady,” a big black bloke that Debs had a feeling was called Terry was looking at her.
“Don't you ‘hey lady’ me, Jesus fucking Christ I've been living next door to you for six years and you don't even know my name. Too busy wanking over PornHub and laughing at Mrs. Browns’ Boys.”
“Shut the fuck up, you'll drop us all in it.”
“We’re already in it mate,” she said.
“He's right,” a woman in a hijab said. “You're making things worse.”
“How can things be worse?” Debs said, but she knew when she was beaten. 

            They rumbled on in silence until the lorry growled to a halt, the canvas flap pulled back and a solider ordered them out. Debs sat there, letting her neighbours out first and carried on sitting there long after they had gone.
            “Come on lady, out you come.”
            “Unlike you, I don’t take fucking orders from no one mate,” Debs said.
The soldier sighed climbed into the wagon and grabbed Deb’s arm.
            “Get your fucking hands off me,” she said.
“I don’t take orders from the likes of you,” the squaddie said and hauled her out of the truck.
            “You fucking prick,’ Debs yelled.
She could see her neighbours standing in a line outside a low-rise block. They were watching her and shaking their heads. She expected to be take over and deposited at the back of the line but the soldier had other ideas. He took her in the opposite direction, to an identical block. They went through an austere front office and her guide knocked on a door and when ordered to do so, he entered, pulling Debs in with him.
            “Ah Mrs Ellis,” a man with a plumby voice said. “I hear you’ve been making ripples.”
            “Fuck you,” Debs said.
            “Oh dear, no need to be upset. Maybe a few hours at her majesty’s pleasure will calm you down. Then, we can have a civilised chat. Take her away.”
The squaddie led Debs through a myriad of doors and corridors until they reached the cells.
            “In you go,” he said and clunked the door shut behind her.

            “You fucking bastard, you’re not going to get away with this,” Debs shouted, but she had a feeling no one was paying her any attention.