Twin Sets and Pearl Necklaces
Respectable granny
it rings in my head,
but when I pull on my jeans
I feel naughty instead.
I don’t want to sit
by the fire every night,
or tuck myself in
lest the bedbugs should bite.
I turn up the volume
and wind down the glass
as I drop down a gear
and pull out just to pass
The sensible lady
who paddles along,
with her head fixed straight forward
and face oh so long.
I’m counting the days
till I fulfil a dream
with Sir Mick and Keith Richards
it should be a scream.
I’ve grown to enjoy
living all on my own,
where I play Primal Scream
and of course Rolling Stones.
I’ve taught all the grand bairns
the joy of the jive,
and the art of enjoying
each day we’re alive.
It doesn’t cost money,
to laugh or give cuddles,
if they take this to heart
their lives won’t be a struggle.
So I’ll try to be good
as all grannies should be,
but twin sets and pearl necklaces
are not meant for me.
I’ll just stick to the tee shirt
my favourite old friend,
maybe buy a new Stones’ one,
and set a new trend.
I’m too old to be rock chick
I’m more like a hen,
but this hen aint done clucking
there’s still much to learn.
There’s the whales in Alaska
canoes on Lake Louise,
the elephants of Africa,
the call of the seas.
It’s what makes life exciting
the draw of the unknown
once I’ve found all the answers
I will settle at home.
I dedicate this poem to a very courageous man, Philip Blenkinsop.
THE PLIGHT OF THE HMONG
He took many pictures in 2003
he took their names and heard their stories.
They in turn flung themselves at his feet,
thinking he was their saviour,
not just some man with a camera and a story to write.
What he learnt then and now is how cruel life can be,
how atrocities are still happening,
right there, right now as we pull up our chair to
enjoy poached eggs on toast and read what scandals
the red tops have found this week.
Little swollen bellies, distended with hunger
don’t understand why their parents always look so sad, so haunted,
they are too young to remember big brothers shot in the head.
The Hmong fled China to escape persecution,
many were trained by the C.I.A. to fight with the Americans
in the hell hole of Vietnam,
with the promise of freedom and a future once the war was won.
Forty thousand lost their lives
and they were left with broken promises.
In desperation many escaped to Thailand
some even managed to reach the United States,
where people turned their backs
and didn’t want to know.
And then the Lao military swept in promising to slay every last
American collaborator still trapped in the wilderness.
Blenkinsop, wanted to know their story and found them,
deep in the jungle, alone, betrayed, frightened and angry.
Hunted and shot like rats, in the year of 2006.
What price humanity?
What price conscience?
Those not shot face starvation.
Bang Yang an orphan, mother and widow
by the time she was fifteen years old
has sobbed herself dry,
no one comes for her, tomorrow will be the same as today.
Everyone must read their story,
everyone must pray that somebody, somewhere
has the power to stop this torture
and salute Blenkinsop for having the courage to
take his pictures.
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