An Untimely Death
Older people are easy targets
relying on their pension,
pension day to look forward to
then, start looking forward to the next.
They want you to work until you die
attacked, suffer cutbacks
again and again
those now living in fear
many with various disabilities
now fear their advancing years.
The extra money helps so many
and it isn’t about their luxuries
as they sit in their coats and hats,
scarves, gloves, wrapped in blankets
not outside but in their living rooms.
Another cold winter shackles them,
confined by disability or age.
Fears for so many,
they will not see another year,
an untimely death for these.
© Carol Robson 2013
Tell your MP we need warmer homes..Age UK Spread The Warmth
First poem from my Gay Biblical Whispers set performed at Hidden Perspectives festival June 1st (Bringing the Bible Out of the Closet) which looked at the Homosexual and Homophobic narratives in the Bible.
Man should not lie with man
woman should not lie with woman
an abomination should end in death
they would take your very last breath.
Homosexuality seen as such a sin
putting to death, their patrilineal kin.
Hypocrisy abounds, thou shall not kill
a sin decreed by their Father’s will.
Gay and Trans people are condemned
procreation of life will be stemmed.
Yet the conception of the son of God
in all narratives just appears a little odd.
Mary’s immaculate conception without stain
a virgin birth, which told, we must not profane.
The vision of the Holy Spirit to take Mary was foretold
or is it simply, that the greatest fairy-tale ever was about to unfold.
©Carol Robson 2013
Pasty faces looking out
pressed against greasy panes
windows out of their world
darkened sad sunken eyes
glimpsing a world denied.
Falls of snow bring the cold
shivering from this frigidity
that lingers in the coldness
of their desperate unloved lives
spirits broken by the coldness of others.
Orphaned, deprived of real love
a spark of a smile curls on broken lips
as they see children of freedom
wrapped in warm clothes
sledging and playing
in the fresh fallen snow.
Christmas Day brings a wishful flicker
the children’s hopes of a special meal
provided and served by their fat benefactors
dressed in warm colourful garments
such a contrast to their greyed existence.
A meal, a little better than usual
gratefully received with a present of fruit
an orange, slightly fresher than the odours
of a dining room of starved children
whose bellies were fuller than normal
on the day that happens once a year.
© Carol Robson 2012
Time of the year to share this one again.
Fuck Being Austere (with soundcloud audio to the tune of So This Is Christmas)
Fuck Being Austere
To The Tune; So This Is Christmas
I know this is Christmas
but I don’t understand,
this feeling inside me
of things being planned.
Scrooges of Christmas future
old Cameron and his clan,
they sadden me deeply
with their devious plan.
They bring Christmas greetings
of joy and goodwill,
but not for the working class
forced to swallow a bitter pill.
A time of year for children
pressies from the Santa man,
family festivities and your parties
make the most of it while you can.
ConDem scrooges are hard at work
cutting Jobs and pensions too,
hurting old people and the vulnerable,
they’re just trying to screw you.
And so Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year,
look out for each other
and Fuck being Austere.
© Carol Robson 2011
A Love Nurtured In Blood
Poem of vampire love through the centuries
©Carol Robson 2013
I’m Not Invisible
I shrink away from this coldness
the coldness of an ordinary day
people lives – spent, moving in herds
some people moving alone – like cold dummies
self-consumed, need to be there – like yesterday
never seeing – dismissing – the frailness of others
People moving along, with a fixed glare
their lives with a purpose, that we do not know
moving as robots, programmed lives
mobile phones attached to their ears
or eyes glazed upon their screens
fingers walking in rhythm to their feet
Frailness still moves among them, warily – yet always alert
keeping a sharp eye for the hunter
you’re the prey to be knocked over
by the robot that got side-tracked
the one that snarls; I never saw you
no words of sorry – makes it all your fault
I’m not invisible; I’m fucking real for god’s sake
I might be old – I might be disabled – so, I’m frail
Am I now, just an easy target – to be brushed aside
like it’s my fault for being in your way
so arsehole! – walk in my frail shoes for a day
experience the coldness and the blindness of the herd
get used to it – because, one day, this could be all yours.
© Carol Robson 2011
February 2013-March 2014
17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses
See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab
Poems Inspired by Book 8
Rebecca Audra Smith and Carol Robson
Loss and War
by Rebecca Audra Smith
by Carol Robson
Click link to read