Margaret Thatcher (Remove filter)
The day you died all I felt was disappointment
I cursed the day that you were born.
I waited, breath baited, for your last to be drawn.
I’d always imagined that when the day came.
I’d celebrate your demise with the finest champagne.
That on the day you laid down and died.
There’d be joy in my heart and a spring in my stride.
I’d throw my hands high in the air and wave.
I’d skip through the streets to dance o...
Tuesday 19th February 2019 3:43 pm
Not so Bohemian now
In the 1980s there was anger in the air
Thatcher’s children breathing fire with bile-fuelled despair
And thick, treacly green gel bound my spiky hair
The Mary Chain’s screeches echoed in my ears
Morrissey’s tortured words fuelled my every angst and fear
A bedroom rebel hiding from the day-glo Tory cheers
Oh how I felt so Bohemian then
Wham’s false jollity was d...
Saturday 17th August 2013 3:13 pm
We have become a dead grandmother
We are a dead steelworks
We are a dead pit
We are a dead community
We have become a dead grandmother
We are a dead altruism
We are a dead society
We are a morally-dead nation
We have become a dead grandmother
We are a friend to Suharto
We are a friend to Pinochet
We are a friend to apartheid
We have become a dead grandmother
The ...
Tuesday 16th April 2013 11:40 am
Margaret Thatcher: how I missed my moment
My first and only, indirect encounter with Margaret Thatcher was in 1971, at a demo outside a private girls’ school in Leamington. The “milk snatcher, union basher” – the then-education secretary had introduced some legislation about student unions, but I can’t remember the significance of it now - was handing out the prizes at speech day. Protesters gathered outside the school gates. I was ne...
Monday 15th April 2013 8:43 am
You can't Streep poverty under the carpet... - NaPoWriMo Day 9
A silence fell upon the city,
contorted shadows twisting moonlight.
Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced
bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers
in an unforgiving wind.
The wretched odour of deprivation
a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.
Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap
and by night the vampires feast on th...
Tuesday 9th April 2013 4:44 pm
Dear Margaret
Published on Poetry24
Tuesday 9th April 2013 2:13 pm
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