702
Kind creative and smart
children of the zoo
who love pigeons, bin chickens and crows
Who need understanding friends and dino nuggets
who give friendship, carrots and potatoes
who fear unkind unhumans and monsters
WHO WOULD LIKE TO SEE THE WORLD
we are the protectors of the night
you are safe for ever
We are 702
In nineteen nineteen, a world worn and frayed,
A table of nations, where hopes were laid,
A pen held tight, where the fate of many swayed,
The Treaty of Versailles, in shadows portrayed.
In Paris halls whispers blend,
A fractured world sought bitter mend,
The victors gathered, hopes held high,
While shadows of the lost would sigh.
Germany had to sign the deal,
A heavy heart accused to steal,
With penalties and reparations’ weight,
Turned into a nation burrowed into their fate.
It was they who bore the blame,
With no one left to stake the claim.
A grievous error, a costly mistake,
In silence, they sought to rectify for their own sake.
They were to repair what was flawed,
With a staggering total of 6.6 billion, a burden awed.
With each shaky signature, poverty entwined,
Leading to a deep depression they struggled to unwind.
Their army limited to just 100,000 men,
A sense of weakness awoke within this nation’s pen.
With a mere six battleships, their might was reduced,
Germany fell deeper into a pit of abuse.
Territory lost through this formal agreement,
Six million Germans faced a harsh deportment.
With no more dominance to reveal,
This country got a taste of their own meal.
In the heart of night where shadows conspire,
Whispers of change spark like a flickering fire.
With voices rising, like thunder they swell,
A pulse of defiance begins to rebel.
“We want a change of monarch,” the whispers clear,
For the crown buried in selfishness, not fear.
No longer a happy country, a place where we roam,
But a land where the inhabitants disagree on their home.
“We want a change in laws,” the whispers are firm,
All the land others own is a concern.
The rich hold authority, their power a flaw,
While the poor work like slaves, for what they’re made for.
United we stand, with dreams that ignite,
To build a new future, to reclaim what is right.
With hope as a banner, we echo our plea,
For justice and freedom, a chance to be free.
Censor the king! To freedom it shall bring!
Communism for all, it’s an idea that will swing.
From heart to heart, like a ball it will travel,
Uniting the masses, our power to unravel.
Hand in hand we will connect,
We’ll bring an end to this monarchy, wrecked.
We’ll dance through wars with a grin so wide,
To the freedom that blossoms, our spirits our guide.
(Influenced by the Russian revolution)
Every day, I look forward to seeing the blue-eyed face
of the one person who makes me more awkward
and shy than I already am.
First thought: my life hasn’t started yet.
University in Liverpool. Fashion journalist in New York.
My silhouette, perhaps even in a clipping of my own.
If only there were instructions for how to get there.
Today I received a U (ungraded) in an English essay
and my teacher wants to see me next week.
It made me feel stupid.
I don’t study as hard as I should for my A-levels.
I’m wondering how I could be more assertive and confident.
How to stop speaking from my throat when I’m nervous.
I need to learn how to talk from my diaphragm instead.
Today one of the girls in my Sociology class inspired me
to buy a pair of white linen trousers after I saw her wearing some.
I got the Beatles question right on the morning quiz.
My form tutor was really quite impressed with that.
I am a sham because I say I want to work hard and then
spend far too much time thinking and wasting time.
My anxiety has been very prevalent recently, I’ve noticed.
I have to pretend to be unaffected when they kiss
each other constantly at lunch.
There are other people here too, you know.
I feel like he’s making fun of me.
Now, I don’t know when I’ll write next
but I’ll tell you if anything happens, which it won’t.
Life hasn’t begun yet. Love, Lucy.
I feel.
The sensations that fill my soul.
The burning passion which leads me into the path
That I will take.
Emotions cloud my senses.
Gas me up like a bomb.
I must feel.
In whatever I do, whatever I say,
I must seek.
The feeling of modesty and justice.
In what I do
The feelings are too much.
Quite a burden, maybe not.
I contradict and I conflict,
The azure pain of being in my sleeve.
I feel –
Oh! How I long to feel.
How I’ve never felt before.
I feel.
Oh! How I long to feel.
The way I think about my deep conversations with myself.
The feeling
Of complicated art.
In the mystery of love,
In the misery of pain.
And in the madness of the brain.
And I
Promise not to be vile.
So, I
Can be a person in life.
Not an emotionless monster.
I feel – oh! I must feel.
Tells the king of the jungle
The tigers roar and the bison rumble
Looking at the big black beast
Tigers fantasise a hefty feast
Tigers attack it with a bang
The bison uses its horns to ram
History reveals the bison’s regime
Belonging to the lineage of bovines
Their food is what we had been encroaching
We killed, slaughtered and started poaching
That social bison who loves to graze
Lacked behind in the jungle’s race
From gangs of beasts with a glorious fame
To merely thousands left in the game
She’s watching me
Over my shoulder
I can feel her fingers clasped around mine
Feel the cold scent of her breath on my neck
Watching
Always watching
Even now
As my fingers move from key to key
Typing, typing until my hands bleed
She’s here
‘Why can’t you let me go?’
But I can’t let her go
I could never let her go
She’s not really here is she?
She’s playing with my mind again…
She’s at the bottom of the lake
She has been for 10 years…
And I was the one who killed her.
Dear archer,
when all is wounded yet shielded
by shards of silver rain,
when one cannot distinguish
between sight and golden stain,
will you take aim?
and strike
upon strike
upon strike?
when time frowns upon itself
and pleas for its failing health,
when an artist masters their stroke
to mix crime with casualty
to blur our reality
to pollute the tint of morality,
I plead that you still take aim
and strike
upon strike
upon strike