Rough music for her passing

Ran Tan Tan

Ran Tan Tan

I will bang my pots and pans

on Ludgate Hill,

by Bridie’s Well,

the day she makes her trip to Hell.

 

Flag-covered gun carriage

crosses cobbles, carries

She who

hobbled a nation.

The Fleet’s the Styx,

the streets the bones,

feet kick up stones.

Backs are turned away from

a lady not for turning,

remembering is not mourning.

 

Ran Tan Tan

Ran Tan Tan

I will bang my pots and pans

on Ludgate Hill,

by Bridie’s Well,

the day she makes her trip to Hell.

 

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di·vi·sive  divisive divisive divisive divisive divisive

di·vi·sive  divisive divisive divisive divisive divisive

divisive di·vi·sive  divisive divisive divisive divisive

divisive divisive di·vi·sive  divisive divisive divisive

divisive divisive divisive di·vi·sive divisive divisive

where there is harmony, may we bring dischord

The War on Women

I’ve been trying to keep this blog for poetry but I feel so disturbed and appalled by what is happening to women in the United States of America, that I am going to start posting about it here.

A fifteen year old girl is being accused of murder because she had a still-born baby at 36 weeks of her pregnancy. She faces a life-sentence…as I saw this, my father read this to me, from today’s Guardian newspaper: “…where infant mortality is on a par with Botswana…”. Where? Mississippi…where the above girl is being criminalised for losing her baby.