"grenfell" poems
In the ashes of division hope ignited
Unity decided a new fate, in its wake.
My father lived in Chester Road,
Off Ladbrook Grove, eight children
In a tenament flat back to back.
The poverty of the forties are
Now palatial palaces, white pillared.
My father joined the army to escape
To marry and move to Streatham,
South London, to an Edwardian terrace.
Notting Hill, the divided community
Chelsea and Kensington let it happen.
My grandmother moved to a new town
And this year we all watched on TV
Grenfell burn as an inferno in the dark.
Love Mary
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
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
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
Dedicated to the victims of Grenfell Tower
She stands amid the buzz of metal flies:
This obelisk, memento of the dead.
The sirens crudely mimicking their cries
As pilgrims in their guilt leave much unsaid.
A once sweet hive is now an empty husk,
Her armour was to be her Achilles' heel,
And as the cold grey sky fades into dusk;
I speak not what I ought, but what I feel:
Instead of words there comes a cry of pain -
A strangled howl and heavy sobs of guilt.
What can be said when words are all in vain -
Like rain, on this gazebo that we built?
While politicians bluster “Nevermore”,
We will remember them forevermore.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
ablaze
with
horror,
disbelief,
hopeless grief
&
anger
waves of emotion trigger
compassion of comradery
displayed in nothing but
the simplicity of love.
Oh!
what dawn of terror
on
Grenfell
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 2:53 AM UTC
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
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
The Souls of Grenfell Tower
1 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls did not depart in vain.
2 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls have been chosen from amongst other souls
3 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls have been returned in the best of months, Ramadan
4 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for God descended to listen to their final utters of prayer
5 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their blissful souls reiterated the peacefulness of 2 billion others
6 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they proved, pried upon practicing pupils, prevent further terror and tragedy
7 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for in June, they indeed sealed the end of May
8 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls showed the tweeting real duck, Londoners Khan all break fast together
9 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they led Britain's conversation and distanced Hatie and her fallen solutions
10 Grieve not, dear families of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls invited pleasant lilies, with beautiful oras, and the most famous of hellos - Salaam
11 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they ignited the indigestion of cladding, in lowly aristocrats and their tory toys
12 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for Martyrdom was their end to a new beginning
13 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for God has granted them Gardens of Eden.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
A fly flew out of my window,
What a silly thing to do .
Driven insaine by the noon day heat ,
Out to blue sky's flew,
Out to relentles noon days sun .
A fly flew from my window no longer inprisoned in my room ,
To wandering sky's it travelled ,
to flame filled sky's belonged .
As evenings Suns. On Grenfell towers fell the night before the fire
like heavens stars shone in grace .
A fly flew out my window to blackened sky inflamed ,
and dark clouds circled all around in soot and fire and pain .
For in morning time Christs loving arms to the lost would embrace ,
and those below kept searching for loved ones to hug and hold
For our body's are no more than cheap disposable takeaway containers with unseen riches untold.
To every Christ believer city's await paved with Gold .
A ghostly shell of hell on earth stands tall above Kensingtons
Well to do ,
Empty houses ,
With empty rooms ,
Stand idle whilst homeless walk in streets of gold without a
Flamin clue .
Oh the many that gathered brought food love and drink .
The forgotten rose with banners Held high with anger in their hearts , to City hall with flame and sword justice for their dead .
A fly flew out of my window to hollow sky's of grey ,
To rainbows all around a beam of light struck its tiny wing ,
to charred timber it rested ,
On what was once a home ,
A fly flew from what was once a window
to blue sky's above .
The sun found its evening rest in the courts of God above .
...
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
There was no war, or warning
"Stay inside" they said.
There was no reason
Only a cold and empty mercantile explanation
There will be no justice
There's no compassion
Not a single tear or token of genuine kindness.
Gave brave men inadequate tools
Leaving them to take the remorse
Helplessly watching London burn.
They say how awful
And retreat to comfort, homes of luxury
Thinking, that the poor are forever present.
They will make plenty more.
Behind the door they sigh and say, "How tired I am today"
How can they sleep?
My heart is broken
How can they not weep?
How offer a token?
Not a thought for the orphans whose parents tossed them into the unknown
Casting away ideas of burning flesh that was their own
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
Grenfell
A big housing machine in London has burnt down
It was a place where the poor and refugees were sent, it didn't
Have a sprinkler system no fire alarm
And it was clad in combustible material to save money but for whom?
This was a criminal act perhaps 100 people have been incinerated
The fire people are still looking and they still have many floors to go
Searching for carbonated bodies
For the rich and the poor alike London is a beautiful place this summer
But the dark smoke from a burnt out building hinder the sun
And green grass has layers of ash from those who didn't have a voice.
We must not be silent push this crime way from our consciousness
For it will happen again and again if we stop demanding our right
To be respected by our leader as equal
There is no Snowdon in the building trade.
You must not sleep this summer night go out of your houses
Switch off your TV and claim you right.
There is summer in London but not a joyous one the heart is sad
But Britain can be beautiful again if you want it and not
Believe you are helpless.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:44 PM UTC
by Joyce Grenfell
If I should go before the rest of you
Chuck not a flower nor inscribe a stone,
Nor, when I am gone, speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep, if you must, parting is hell
But life goes on - so sing as well.
Joyce Grenfell
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
Ouch that hurt, I heard someone shout before darkness descends and I hit the floor.
As I began to regain I heard someone screaming in pain.
Trying to push myself up off the floor but my wrists they f***ing hurt!
The screamer becoming clearer now as I began to shout.
Before long police and paramedics attending roadside.
Gas and air my hero dealing with pain, not my pride.
Laughing with the paramedics enjoying the ride.
Straight to hospital, blue lights on the way.
Not the worse thing, says the paramedic, to happen today.
June 14th Grenfell Tower fallen, families lost and all of their treasures.
Perspective gently given and received,my pain is real but in small measure.
Angels at the hospital attending my every need.
Cleaning my skin and stemming any further bleeds.
Drs order the x rays 1,2 and 3 both wrists and my elbow to be sure.
Cast on my right arm, thank goodness for that, just one break, no more.
Morphine for pain relief, tiredness over comes me, please just let me sleep.
I'm feeling so sore and tired I could weep.
All those services all that care tenderly given and gratefully received.
How do I know, why do I care, we'll of course it's because I was there.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
The leaf. Held on,
despite its withered,
colour-changed state.
Remembering. As autumn
stored away summer's memories
like the squirrels in the gardens.
Grenfell. Westminster Bridge,
Finsbury Park and Borough Market
had tried to steal its greenness.
Then it fell. It fluttered,
on a barely perceivable breeze,
down between some tourists.
I saw it. Settle there,
on the Square's grass, unnoticed,
ready for decay
and the renewal of life.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
it's all ******* tina turner at this point! or? we need not education... cougar middle-aged women, tiger mums... eating filfth of marine scavangers that ***** are... you wash your mouth, before telling me that certain words are filfth... you stop the oral *** and let me speak the word, **** i still prefer the tina turner version of events, rather than the pink floyd reality... where journalists are worse than teachers of the english language in school... mother... ******* condescending half-twats! apologies, for what? the bbq? so why are teachers in schools disrepected? so why should journalist, not be also?
you **** to the left
(shaking your to the left)
or...
you **** to the right
(shaking your empty hand
to the right)
you push the elevator button
to go up...
or you push the elevator
button to go down...
who's winning? who's losing?
the ******* ovaries?
and it is all about tina turner
right now...
is it me, but when comparing
english accents, australian
sounds rather, posh,
when tailored against american?
god, i love that accent...
canadian?
because of quebec, it doesn't count
as even remotely english...
but the didgeridoo
wonga-wonga-wang-wang?
all i heard is that perth is so far removed
that sydney so further than dziakarta
(jakarta)...
tina ************* turner...
a building is burning, a colt comes into
the discussion, the tower-block
is gushing out suffocating smoke
in west london...
i'm guessing about 1000 people have
been bbq'd... and all the journalist
keeps saying:
apologies for the rude language,
oh, i have to apologise for the rude language...
you ******* kidding me, right?
stop, trying, to, be, my, english, teacher!
over 1000 people were scortched
in that tower-blow, and you're actually
worried about me using the word ****
you have to be kidding me...
really...
and so: the slow death of
20th century media...
socialism two-point-oh;
if they're not panicking,
i really don't know why they're still
a credible journalistic outlet;
i.e. considering themselves as such.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
So many Joans of Arc,
abandoned by the monarch
to the forces of economy
capitalistic aristocracy
Mother Theresa
hangs her head in shame
Technology makes politics
a very different game
The council made many moves
placing pieces here and there
The knights and knaves
now ashes in the air
Who won?
The game was no fun
for anyone
Sean Hunt June 2017
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC