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#hetherington
For Idil Ibrahim In memory of Tim Hetherington - 1970 - 2011 I cannot stay and speak my truth while the front line has no voice. The carpet doesn't share substance with the blood-clumped dust of Liberia; Red wine doesn't stain nations and it hasn't changed the world. I cannot stay and walk these steps while the fragile youth stand. Our Sunday morning route doesn't cover landscapes of wounds and bodies; Central Park has never felt a thousand welted feet march for death. I cannot stay and see your face while molten plastic scars her world. Your delicate eyes have never seen the darkness of a child's grief; Our democracy cannot fathom the searing, slow drip after a family massacred. I cannot stay and feel worthy of your love while injustice goes unseen. My lens has immortalised what we held dear, but is yet to capture the human condition; I spoke to you like I spoke to them; Through decades of mortar fire I spoke to them.
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Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
leigh321f
Cause
For Idil Ibrahim In memory of Tim Hetherington - 1970 - 2011 I cannot stay and speak my truth while the front line has no voice. The carpet doesn't share substance with the blood-clumped dust of Liberia; Red wine doesn't stain nations and it hasn't changed the world. I cannot stay and walk these steps while the fragile youth stand. Our Sunday morning route doesn't cover landscapes of wounds and bodies; Central Park has never felt a thousand welted feet march for death. I cannot stay and see your face while molten plastic scars her world. Your delicate eyes have never seen the darkness of a child's grief; Our democracy cannot fathom the searing, slow drip after a family massacred. I cannot stay and feel worthy of your love while injustice goes unseen. My lens has immortalised what we held dear, but is yet to capture the human condition; I spoke to you like I spoke to them; Through decades of mortar fire I spoke to them.
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Dashing hither, dashing thither, Dashing in the winter weather, John the dashing haberdasher Dashed a hat upon his head Not some lace cap fit for ladies, Nor a bonnet stitched for babies, John the dashing haberdasher Dashed a top hat there instead! Never had a hat so fine, So tall and silken, so refined, Regaled upon the daily grind Of prince or pauper in the Strand Ladies stalled to see it's lustre, Swooned and swayed before it's bluster, Fell and fainted in a fluster, Startled by a hat so grand! Children screamed in dreadful fright And yelping dogs began to bite As crowds began to brawl and fight And riots claimed the London street In the chaos thus ensuing, Folks began to run, pursuing John the dashing haberdasher Chasing him from Strand to Fleet! John was taken to the prison, Chided by the crowds derision, There to wait the Mayor's decision On his wanton heinous crime Charged with breaching lawful peace, He paid a fine for his release And ordered to desist and cease, He left his top hat well behind Thus is told the tale of John Who dared to bravely dash and don A silken top hat high upon His noble head in London town Heed his tale and take this warning, When you wake one winter morning With desire to be less boring, Careful how you dress that crown!
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Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
tryst
John's Tall Tale
Dashing hither, dashing thither, Dashing in the winter weather, John the dashing haberdasher Dashed a hat upon his head Not some lace cap fit for ladies, Nor a bonnet stitched for babies, John the dashing haberdasher Dashed a top hat there instead! Never had a hat so fine, So tall and silken, so refined, Regaled upon the daily grind Of prince or pauper in the Strand Ladies stalled to see it's lustre, Swooned and swayed before it's bluster, Fell and fainted in a fluster, Startled by a hat so grand! Children screamed in dreadful fright And yelping dogs began to bite As crowds began to brawl and fight And riots claimed the London street In the chaos thus ensuing, Folks began to run, pursuing John the dashing haberdasher Chasing him from Strand to Fleet! John was taken to the prison, Chided by the crowds derision, There to wait the Mayor's decision On his wanton heinous crime Charged with breaching lawful peace, He paid a fine for his release And ordered to desist and cease, He left his top hat well behind Thus is told the tale of John Who dared to bravely dash and don A silken top hat high upon His noble head in London town Heed his tale and take this warning, When you wake one winter morning With desire to be less boring, Careful how you dress that crown!
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