Wednesday, February 11, 2009


All police leave has been cancelled.
The armed response unit is on standby.
Loudspeaker vans are touring the neighbourhoods
Warning law abiding citizens to watch out -
Tesco deals in stolen goods!

Warrants have been issued.
Evidence gathered for public display
That with no regard for people’s livelihoods
No shred of human decency
Tesco deals in stolen goods!

The learned judge is dusting off his wig.
Barristers rehearse complex argument.
You’d surely do anything you could
To uphold our laws and stop
Tesco selling stolen goods!

I must be dreaming, or suffering from shock
The wrong person is standing in the dock.
Instead of profiteers from theft, murder, falsehoods
The honest citizen is charged, while
Tesco carry on selling stolen goods.

Surely now justice must prevail
Twelve jurors must not fail
To send a message that is understood
One law for all is what we’re fighting for so
Punish Tesco for selling stolen goods!

The Tesco 2, Dee Murphy and Greg Wilkinson went into Tesco and filled up their trolleys with goods labelled as ‘Produce of the West Bank’, in reality produced by the illegal Israeli settlements which have driven Palestinians, at gunpoint, from their own lands. They then walked out of the store, tipped the trolleys up and waited to be arrested. Dee has been charged. Greg has not, even though he stood up in court and demanded to be arrested, as he had done exactly what she had done. He was ejected from court for his pains. Trial pending. Let’s hear it for the Tesco 2 turning words into action!

Monday, February 02, 2009

The Listeners

( long after Walter De La Mare )

‘Is there anybody there?’ asked the poet,
Knocking on the poem’s door
And his thoughts in the silence
Like paper balls scattered over the floor,
But one thought flew out,
Spun out of the poet’s head
And he battered the door a second time,
‘Is there anyone there?’ he said.
But no one answered his question,
No stranger emerged from thin air
To stare into his dark brown eyes
And explain who they were and where
A host of phantom listeners
Gathered in a dark brown room
To sit listening to each twitch of the air,
Disembodied voices from the world of men
On curious networks everywhere
And that one who sat in a world of his own
Until shaken by some words from a poem,
The lonely poet’s desperate call,
Who felt in his own heart the strangeness,
The hopelessness of his cry,
Born of sights and thoughts too dark
For a good man to ask himself why?
So the poet yet again banged on the poem’s door
And his words grew more strident,
‘Tell them I spoke and no one listened!’
The listener made a brief note
Of each word the poor poet abused,
Though each word the poet wrote
Fell echoing on stony ground.
Then the only listener left awake
Quit his post without a sound
As the soft thud of words on stone
Let the silence fill the spaces around
With thoughts abandoned, all alone.

I have a close friend in Cheltenham and I know she reads the blog from time to time, but I cannot believe the sudden surge of interest in that area can be her alone. I suspect some computer has picked out some ‘dangerous’ words and now I have my own dedicated little cyber spy in GCHQ hanging on my every word, poor sod! So this is especially for you my friend. I hope it makes you smile in the middle of the night.