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Paul Butters Jun 2017
Who needs terrorists?
They are redundant
When over 60 poor people
Can perish
In a raging inferno
Caused by their own council.

For years the resident action group
Were poo pooed by the authorities
With, “Don’t worry your pretty heads!”
When they warned about fire safety regulations
Being ignored
Just like them.

No sprinklers and only one fire escape
In a twenty four storey building.
Only last year the tower was refurbished
With cheap plastic cladding that’s
Banned in the USA.

Our prime minister has been accused
Of failing to show humanity
By only visiting the Emergency Services
To avoid the angry public.

All this has happened
Not in some God forsaken third world country
But in the fifth or sixth richest economy
In the world.

For sure, that all engulfing tower-fire
Has made the blood of the people
Boil.
Let’s hope this volcano does not erupt
Like the one that caused
The London Riots of 2011.
Let’s hope our administration
At all its levels
Learns something from this:
To Care for its People.

Paul Butters
My sympathies are with all those affected by this.
july hearne  Jun 2017
pride
july hearne Jun 2017
west london fire stories
stories i can't finish
you are in this story

what's the problem called
when the sun is coming up
and you've been awake all night because
ugly sleep sleeps all day,
and the groom's ******* are
too large for his beard

someone said no to reality
someone put the greed in poverty
but what can i say, what can i say
forgot who i was long ago
don't like who i am today

my back was turned
when the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell
while the london fire burned

cheap, chinese, and rainproof
that's how
the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell
penny wise and pound foolish
Stanley Wilkin  Nov 2015
LOST
Stanley Wilkin Nov 2015
I grieve for you in the cold quiet of winter
My absent child, my long lost son
Warming my hands over dying flames, frost covered smouldering clinker,
By the wood where icy streams run
Through the shrunken sedge, and barren fields
Stretching for miles, empty of meaning.
The landscape like a worn photograph yields
Your tremulous smile, then nothing.

Here, you ran with startled steps
Through the yielding sheaves, yelling with surprise,
Chasing indifferent spiders, and discomfited birds
With hatred in their pebble pool-dark eyes.
Querying awkwardly spoken words, small
Tenacious fingers that caress and clutch
Every passing object, loudly chuckling, wisely playing me for a fool
A silly father who loved too much.

On the anniversary of your leaving I required solitude
Partnered only by memory
Away from familiar crowds, the booming, barking fusillade
Of the present day commonplace urban itinerary,
Where only the crackle of snow
And the fleeting trajectory of birds
Distracts my slow
Marshalling of comforting thoughts.

The cottage where we lived haunts the shallow glade,
A shrouded ghost swaddled by the half-light,
Positioned squarely like an old man, its cladding beginning to fade,
White branches like dead-fingers that gleam in the night.
In the closet are your dust-sprinkled toys, a yellow plastic duck,
A cheap skateboard, ancient video games,
A guitar you never learnt to pluck
A chess board on which you pulverised my endgames.

In the preserved furnishings of your bedroom
Your school work gathered into stacks
Barely visible in the gloom,
Our life together in disorganised packs
Denoting year and level
Development and academic achievement,
If any, (but I mustn’t once again cavil)
Indicating, even in your earliest years, a specific bent.

Standing on the mantelpiece, propped up against the wall,
Are brightly coloured, polished pictures
Of you. Plump, blonde, agreeably small
Dancing, standing, jumping, grinning, absurdly wistful mixtures.
A bitter echo resonating from the shadows
A cold thought darkening into memory
The spectre of your voice disappearing in the meadows
Having left all of us! Having left me!
Vikram sikki Jul 2017
Don't talk to me
Ye vanity
Cladding truth in urbanity

Expressions left to emojis
For Conversations we type
Reassuring through selfies
Relationships through swipes

Get drenched in rain
Get scorched in Sun
Quiver once in a while in pain
Drain out after a run

Get in a fight in real
Burst off of sorrow
Then you ll know what matters
It's today not tomorrow

Let go
Let go
O please
Let go
The veneer of sophistication
The hope of impression
Smiling through frustration
And short term-fad salvation

And if not
Never blame it on generation
For We took the turns
and We paved the path
We are here for what we chose
And we only ll be wondering at last

we always had a choice
Always...
We are sold to the times. We are owned and fed.
Jack Quinn  Jun 2020
Bulldozer
Jack Quinn Jun 2020
Rubber soled trainers broke the brick
Like the boom of the people tether the streets
Tight strapped caps wander and roam
Strolling the daylight for a place of their own

Screeching and whirring filling the room
Monoxide smog frogs that cling to their moulds
We the people; hardened in soul
A splash in the distance tearing a hole

Enoch and Edna turn in their grave
Darkened cobble flattened; all glazed
Mirrors and cladding click into place
A village that weeps, constant refined

Express the formidable now done and alone
Never your own
EST marks the alleys; so nuanced, so cool
If you knew the truth; that's a tenner!
You fool
topaz oreilly Nov 2012
The wind chilled the dead pigeons
the chimney had long been dormant,
if they had lain elsewhere
their beaks would carried the seeds of change,
yet the graded storeys were never condemned
as long as the Portland stone cladding
was not too evasive,
growls from under the porridge table 
by the occasioned Ginger
spared these absurd notions
Maggie Sorbie Nov 2019
Clatter and bang bang
living in a building site
It has to be done!
servicemen ingested the wrath, leaching through unsuspecting bodies
in a time capsule it sat in idleness, waiting to affect their aged bodies

no safeguards were in place, the testing went on without accountability
the red dust of the outback irradiated, protective cladding not on bodies

years later cancers were reported, nuclear particles ratcheting up
damaging the organs and bones, in frail manner were their bodies

a mushroom cloud hung low, the aftermath of British testing
the servicemen but lab rats, no one had regard for these bodies

friendly fire came to Australia, back in the nineteen fifties
Maralinga a tragedy in the making, its dire fallout stayed in bodies
S E L  Oct 2013
miniature_kite
S E L Oct 2013
cladding of a miniature kite
flying low
nearly raking treetops


figuring out all the stupid crap apps
vying for attention
flashing waste of unnecessary things

peck.. peck.. at indulge crumbs left
berried stalks on a pavement
deep fried horror slow ingest

impoverished smiles answer sewer cracks
sift through detritus of sea sludge
trickery wishes weeded out by force

probe eyes drill into sunbaked back
from across wrenching chasm scream
tearing of brown paper heard from toothless vagrant

hide a peek into auburnt stuck starfish
stand on violent edge
treble want not nearly seen

rocking wicker chair on solid balcony
light breeze fondles sweated head
curls o'oblivion study of gripping truth


I place within your palm
a miniature__kite
of such extent
its face can be hid forever
within the depths of you
Elizabeth Squires  Jun 2017
Blame
blame can be apportioned
on the landlord's back
a cladding of inferior quality
wrapped his building's stack

flames quickly engulfed
all the floor levels
tenants were trapped on
such unsafe bevels

what chance did they stand
in getting out of the tower
a cheap Chinese covering  
encasing their bower

deaths were assured
by faulty material
much loved ones lives
seemingly immaterial

construction standards
perished with the smoke
slack council regulations
a legislative choke
kris evans May 2014
see the sky .....
cladding my dreams...
see the night...
hovering my thoughts....
see the stars...
smoothing my mane....
see the breeze...
shuffling my curls....
see the clouds....
tickling my feet....
see myself.....
gliding through them all...
Zara rain May 2017
It's finally spring my love.
The false promise of renewal,
hope and dreams
that survived the stark of winter war.
And once again like a zillion times before,
my mind lingers on you - my bedraggled knight.
Still reminiscing the insincere
but oh so seductive cooing
of your words whispered in desperate passion.
But every time the timbre
of that poetic song dig into
the marrow of my withering bones,
the ruthless but absolutely honest voice of it all
- my taunting, yet ever loyal sidekick - distrust
kicks back and tell me
in the clearest chime of unwedding bells,
that it was never real.
No love for real,
how hard I wanted to believe.
Believe
my heart's quest always.
Pounded down by the utmost power of knowing.
Taking down shimmering gates of roses
and mashing them all into
a weeping horrified pile of compost.
Where no new flowers will ever grow.
Fodder for black snails and spiders
to feast upon, in eager anticipation
to reach deep down, to devour
the terrified, bleeding heart
that’s buried in its rubble.
And the iron armor
cladding my spiritual self
builds stronger every day.
Polished and unbuckled.
Continuously fortifying or imprisoning me.
I move in the world effortlessly,
not one soul seeing
the tons of heavy metal
that weighs down my skinless flesh.
Bedraggled knight,
who do not know
that he still hold my fortress - my heart.
And with just one wink of the white flag
would take it all down in a rumble of tears.
yet another ode to broken dreams...

— The End —