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Unpolished Ink Jul 2021
Freedom
a gift that is seldom free
freedom to say I just want to be me
freedom of thought
freedom of expression
freedom from any kind of oppression
freedom to say you can all go to hell
because blood puts the polish on the liberty bell!
Unpolished Ink Jun 2021
I will walk barefoot and bow my head
along the winding path that leads me through the trees
to where the nightingale sings
her notes so pure and so beautiful
that you have to follow
yes I will walk barefoot
leaving as I came in
crossing the boundary
that leaning picket fence
which marks the end of all journeys
to what lies beyond
leaving only my footprints
and the echo of a bird
Unpolished Ink Jun 2021
My name is Martha and I'm very tired
my patience as such has long expired
so you don't want my brown skin next to your white
well madam I'm tired so I'm sitting tight
it's hot and I waited my turn in the queue
and I paid, just like him, just like her, just like you
you can carp, you can moan, you can cause all kinds of fuss
but lady I'm keeping my seat on this bus
because I'm tired
Written as a tribute to Martha White who has died aged 99. Martha made a bus protest 2 years before Rosa Parks made her historic stand. An unsung woman.
Unpolished Ink Jun 2021
I need no sword
for I can pierce your armour with my tongue
wit and clever words can bring you sobbing to your knees
they have bite, feel their sting
oh yes, and they will cut you down in a heartbeat
to shred and tear at your pomposity
I need no sword
Unpolished Ink Jun 2021
Walk a mile
with the wind on your face
between the land and the sky
the sand and the water
tread the lonely margins
the frayed cuffs
where worlds meet and end
listen to the cries of wading birds
and wet your tired feet
let the waves heal you
and wash against your senses
this beach is yours
if only in your head
Unpolished Ink Jun 2021
When I am gone
think of me often
for I will be a butterfly free soul
a forever spirit of the air and wind
dancing among the flowers
in endless summer
Unpolished Ink Jun 2021
My alarm this morning
came by virtue of the birds
who long before the sun had set the sky alight
had shed the quiet wings of night
and very early came to sing
with news of what the day would bring
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