On second thoughts, I don’t need your forgiveness – poem for dVerse

It sickens me, to see those silly men,
and women, too – let’s not forget
that women can be silly, too – waving
their silly flags, so happy
that the world got smaller,
and I realise that I’m out of step,
so out of step – that’s my flag,
and I’m wincing at it – me
with all my blithe assumptions
that the world would soften,
all those barriers would blur-
race, class, religion, gender,
it would all fade away,
and yet, these people love their walls,
they cling to them as if
that’s how they find themselves,
so when I see you wave your silly flag,
forgive me if I don’t wave back.

Amaya is hosting at dVerse tonight. She’s asking us to write “death sentences” – poems with 3 rules – they must be a story in a single sentence, based on an event witnessed or heard about that symbolises the end of the world, and they must be improvised.

I’m quite experienced in writing long, breathless sentences, but it’s hard to leave them alone. This poem is about the last session of the British in the European Parliament, and the pathetic antics of the Brexit Party, but I guess there’s a lot of flag waving about all over the place at the moment, so if it works for you…

I’m looking at rooks again.

Rooks rooting in the wet soil,
one rook, and another, and another,
all across the field, moving,
not military, no, more like
a mob of mates, meandering
not marching. Rooks roost
in the ash trees at the top
of the long meadow. Rooks rise
whirlwinding into the grey air,
I don’t know why. I never see
what triggers it, I only know
they rise, they circle, they spread out,
not tied together like the starlings,
not in a sharp-carved V
like the wild geese,
but just a rambling, rolling, riffraff rabble
of black wings, feathers splayed.

Bjorn is hosting MTB night at dVerse. He’s looking for assonance, consonance and alliteration. All of those things are hard to avoid, I think, but sometimes it’s good to do something consciously, like concentrating on your forehand.