2019 02 – Poem


  • They had lived so long in this now blighted isle,
  •   in evil-smelling dusty cupboards for a long while.
  • No truer blues turned paler in this grey atmosphere.
  •   And in their chains, entangled, Giuseppe dying
  • from being over here.
  •   No law, justice, protection, a community in loathing,
  • their defence inadequate, unlearned , dozing, posing.
  •   When freed all heaven broke out as the elite said they
  • should indeed be free.
  •   Not in the first year, the second  or third but in the
  • fifteenth when everything stopped for tea.

Wilson John Haire. 12th January, 2019.