Posted by: vickim57 | 12 October 2009

Poetry corner

A Breath of Fire

“All fixed, fast frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses his real condition of life and his relations with his kind.” Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto

The turbulent power of a latent force,
inexhaustible, turns a blade, pulsing
beauty sweeps the air, spun light and invisible
fire are born from the collision of hope,
science and profit, in opposition to the burning
that, unchanged and unrenewable, could spread
the parched floodfiremelt to the horizons.
This is the earth we’re talking about.

Inside the factory that moulds the blades,
despite scant time to prepare or call out,
a war is waged; for justice and jobs,
against the word can’t, in the courage
and imagination of the workers occupation.
Sleeping on the hard floors, waving from a balcony,
breathing light around the world, into time.

A man sits for hours, outside the occupied building,
hunched under an umbrella over bags of food,
while security, stony faced look on and shuffle.
Later the crowds outside the gate will call for
one hot meal for the occupiers and the management
will concede. Meanwhile a kaleidoscope of tents
springs up among floating trade union banners,
on a roundabout where time pauses and leaps.
This is what solidarity looks like.

Forget metaphors, let’s have some facts,
as this poem is specific, not an elegy.
Carbon Dioxide 387 parts per million and rising
Vestas Blades made £575 million profit in 2008
before the 600 redundancies on an island where 3000
bid for 300 vacancies, Just days before we heard,
“You have to give people green hope not green despair,”
Energy Secretary, Ed Miliband 15th July 2009.

The glow in a steel drum under a waxing moon.
A book shelve that shines with words of resistance.
Red, green, coarse hewn, care sown banners.
Scorched rubber as bikers, visors down,
circle the campsite, fists high under the sun.
A picnic in a job centre. Marching time and again.
A song, a rebel song uniting voices, playing outside
the factory gates, playing on the streets, playing on.
This is what solidarity looks like.

Picketing the back gate where blackberry bushes
sing from the earth that this is the end of summer.
Waiting for a spring tide, by the glint of the Medina.
Straddling steel poles twenty five feet high from
dawn to dusk. Clinging to moving cranes in a harbour.
Calling for the lightning that holds a ship in the dock
and turns it back from the other side.

This turbulent power of a latent force,
inexhaustible, turns history, spinning the light
of our fire, visible , born from the collision
of dreams, organisation and need, checking
the pulse of change and beauty, in opposition
to burnt potential and will renew, spread
our floodfiremelt, return eternal, no horizons.
This is the future we’re talking about.

Anne Edda Cooper


Responses

  1. Excellent words !
    In solidarity x


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