One Song

How then to mend the circle once it’s broken

Fragments of the arc lie scattered, ruined

Sensed circumnavigation of the planet, observation

Detecting dissonance in chords in every tune

 

How then to close the gaps, the cracks, the fissures

The depths disparate, destitute, wartorn

One voice, survival, compromise, under pressure

For the weak, the strong, the willing, for newborn

 

How to prioritise the issues pending

The global, national, each local scene

One love, one voice, one purpose, life unending

Humanity dependent on one song

 

How then to sing a song that may unite us

Which strings to strum, whose fingers must we trust

Whose voice to listen to that won’t divide us

Compassion’s rises strong for what is just

 

Compassion’s song is gentle, seeks solutions

Forgives repentance, swallows hardships whole

Her song is crying listen, I am waiting

One world, survival, love, one song, the goal

 

How then to hear her voice within the tumult

Discordant notes that cry please look at me

Amid the monotone of, ‘I’m alright’, we must intuit

How to detect the raft upon high seas

 

No less than we would do for our own children

With selflessness through eyes that see for miles

By beginning with one chord, accord, a chorus

With empathy, attenuating lies

 

One voice, one world, one chance, one song, one option

To see what must be seen through keener lens

One humanity, there’s only one, one choice then

Compassion’s song must be our truest friend

 

“O, wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion.”  Robert Burns

 

We Know Already, You Know

By next Thursday, before yet another holiday weekend, – yes, I know bloody teachers – I will have submitted around 30,000 words to my current headteacher outlining the progress of 26 children in my class. I started a couple of days ago. Pressure makes for focus I find.

A certain amount of copying and pasting is allowed for similarity in contexts. Blah, blah, they all studied artists and scientists and found out about the life of pirates in days of yore. That still leaves a lot of words that are unique to every child. Mainly because they are all unique. I’ve spent every school day with them since last August till now and I know them as well as it’s possible to know anyone in around 1,000 accumulated hours of close proximity.

And it strikes me all over again. Every year. Every time I come to the full report on the progress and knowledge of the children in my care.  Gawd, I really know them. Not until I put the words into type and see before me the evidence of my own thoughts and their development.

Of course, in between times, this is all held in my head and in ongoing assessments and profiles. But it’s the summary – if summary 30,000 words can be called – that brings home to me every-single-year how well I imbue all that unfolds before me.

Don’t we all?

I haven’t commented, as such, on the results of the general election here in the UK where the incumbent party swept home on around 25% of the electorate.

And that might even be wrong.

My head is full of figures.

I’ve read just about everything there is to read on post election analysis. I’ve listened to and read some unadulterated shite.

Some perfectly reasonable arguments and some hugely emotive posts from people who have so much at stake from another five years of Tory government. The favoured and the damned.

I haven’t read much on WordPress unless there’s been a link through Twitter or Facebook to a relevant post on a subject that is not going away. Democracy. Justice. Representation. Empathy. Compassion. Corruption. Representation. Capitalism, that no creator of its name surely ever envisaged. Surely not, Adam Smith.

More than one subject there?

Or one?

I’ve listened to I don’t know how many repetitive newsreels on Burundi and immigrants on boats who may or may not be genuine asylum seekers and appeals from member states of the European Union that Britain and other members step up to the mark and take their fair share of suffering by any other name.

I’ve hung my head that, already, an extreme right-wing government is seeking to revoke the Human Rights adhered to by member states of the EU to be replaced by some paper invoking #British values. A government with its 25% mandate seeking to ensure that no strike action may occur in any workforce without a 40% vote in favour.

I’ve laughed, delightedly, that the 56 Scottish Nationalist Members of Parliament ‘flouted’ etiquette by applauding – that’s it, applauding! in Westminster! How very dare they! To flout the establishment thus! Off with their ……Fuck off!

I’ve smiled that a 20 year old politics student overturned a 17,000 seat majority from Labour to claim her own 6,000 seat majority.

I smiled and nodded as I listened to her say that it was a wee bit embarrassing that tweets of hers/Facebook stats were being dredged up from five or six years ago to disgrace her. Yeah, like any fourteen or fifteen year old could beam with pride at everything they’d ever said or done.

Or any of us could at any age.

And what does all of my reading and listening have to do with writing report cards for 26 kids I love have to do with each other?

If I have to explain that.

If I have to explain that we already know what is good for us and our children, for the weak, the impoverished, the homeless, the disenfranchised.

If I have to explain that a lifetime watching and listening and reading and being part of the system surely equates to more knowledge and understanding than 1000 hours of close proximity of love and care can produce.

I have the wrong audience albeit a small one.

What is wrong is endemic everywhere.

I’d like to leave the last word on the subject – before I go back to writing reports on my little ‘angels’ – well, they are! – to a new find to me today.

A voice. Not from Scotland.

Because what I know, what nearly everyone in Scotland knows, is that this is not nationalist as previously known. I’m glad to know that others know this too.

This is civic.

This is debate.

This voice.

Of the people.

This is basic.

And as surely as a 20 year old MP can eat a piece ‘n’ chips on the steps of the established powers that would hold us to values we don’t hold, we have voices that will flout established thought till we get to know the hearts and minds of children of the future.

I give you Mhairi Black

And Mancunian Spring, proving that people voice exists across the whole of the UK. And the day of reckoning is dawning. Perhaps everywhere.

And, if you don’t believe me, I find this more than a little worrying. So many familiar names in the newly appointed Tory cabinet in roles that ‘if at first you don’t succeed’.

In other news,

– someone resigned from The Simpsons. Apparently the map of the UK now resembles Maggie. Does that mean that the body hasn’t caught up with the head yet? Or what?

-and women say bigger might be better. Jury out on that one here. Quality counts.

Now going back to nursing a cold – first one in I don’t know how many years – and catching up on reports that I know inside out. Because, let’s face it, we know what we know already. No one need to tell us what is self-evident. Right?

Without A Kiss

May we still remember tender moments

Though shattered fragments lie like broken glass

Reflecting willful spent, patent torment,

Decried the future as denied the past.

Might there be a time when softer feelings

Arise to surface, no need to protect,

Shall there be a union, desired healing,

Hopeful, if undetected as of yet.

When the pride and pain have both subsided

Could neutral ground be found where meeting claims,

After we have shared and each confided,

Hearts and souls, truce sincere in all loves named.

Love there was and nothing can forsake this,

Though world of love betrayed without a kiss.

In Praise Of Unique

Before there was liberation

There was salutation,

Supplication,

Fear.

Before there was liberation

There was sadness

Mixed with joy

And some tears.

Before there was liberation

There was angst

Filled with worry,

Too much noise.

Still, with the liberation,

Sadness, tears and worry

Don’t depart

But now they’re voiced.

 

For my beautiful daughter.

Heart of my life,

One of the seven.

One of the world.

Unique.

For our children.

All children.

All unique.

People Do

I soothe your fevered brow if it is wanting,

You read me books to while away the hours,

He feeds you broth and silences the phone calls,

She tempers any tantrums, treats the sores.

We nourish where the need is for the easing,

You speak for me and lighten half the load,

They furnish love by all their actions,

Proving that village has a road.

I pick you up when fortune leaves your bedside,

You listen and you do the same for me,

He cries and smiles, relieves all your misgivings,

She tells you jokes to ease and help you see.

We be there when no other one is looking,

You care with such compassion for my plight,

They stand along beside us, fuel our courage,

Have your back at all we have to fight.

We do this, all as one and all together,

We do this, for that’s what people must,

We do this for our families, this our village,

We do this and prove that love is just.

We do this for each other despite choices,

And pity anyone who doesn’t have a clue,

Of the things that love, in all its hale and ailments,

People do for people, ’cause they do.

                                                    #1000voices

1000speak-blank

Earth Angels

A new visitor to my blog yesterday particularly caught my attention by the title of his blog. Angel Frequency – subheaded Earth Angel Insights. I like angels. I spent some time browsing and clicking on links to other blogs. By the time I was finished ‘Earth Angels’ was stuck in my head as a name and a concept. This arose.

Calling all earth angels,

To the klaxon’s silent horn,

Insistent in its trumpeting,

Alerting silver’d swans,

Those keepers of the vital wings,

Enfolded in repose,

Vigilant to nascent cries,

Answering, they chose

To rise above, beyond, around, where

Compassion is required,

A glisten’d shift as up they lift,

Transcendent in clear fire,

Burning coals of snow and ice,

Fuelled from whiten’d lode,

A stone so small, a pebbled pulse

On gacial keep’s brick’d icy road,

Concentric in its lightning bright,

Spiralling in waves,

Attesting to the call, Awake!

From light beyond, they save.

Klaxon sounds from far away,

A pole we’ve never spied,

Calling all earth angels

To the time to rise and fly.

 

Envoys

Hush, can you hear the angels’ wings

in the breath of the air

mid the rain?

Quiet now, listen,

between drops as they fall,

a faint beat at my window pane.

A rustle, some drips,

a glimpse of wing white,

a stilled breeze through the shutters ajar,

they’ve paused for a moment,

my heart to explore

before journeying onwards afar.

Shush, I can hear them,

they’ve  halted too long,

this never has happened before.

Communion’s occurring,

I feel in their minds, weighing me up

but yet more.

Searching my soul,  

from the sills where they stand,

outside in the palest moonlight,

reading me well,

compassion descending,

a gift in the small hours of lost night.

Flutters I heard

as the peace came upon,

a stirring of feathers and gone,

their misson to mingle,

leave a token of white,

to all lonely, before moving on.

Fey Tale

Ennobled rank

by virtue of affliction,

Self-condemnation masks

the pooling tears.

His challenge cup

once poisoned by a dragon,

Tormented by its torching;

burning sears.

 

Intrinsic to his quest

there lives a code,

No law may break his bones;

his strength engendered.

On steed of worth,

his face full-painted woad,

Armoured heart encrusted;

gems to render.

 

Immortal risk too far

he dare not try,

Though wounds of flesh

may bleed until the end.

Scarred soul he saves,

 thus he will not lie;

This, his one and truest,

loyal friend.

 

Alter-egoed grip

upon the reins,

Steadfast in irons,

soldered to his feet.

Another hero’s heel

in wounded pain

Adjunct to failing trial,

none to meet.

 

Through storms and mountain glens

he wends his way,

Howling tempest smothers

heartfelt cry.

No joy on earth to wish

his heart to stay,

All hope gone,

anguished wish to die.

 

Softest breathing kelpie

heard his pleas,

Veiled as creature

tempting to his fate.

Brought errant knight

upon his knees

Submerged his soul,

became his life-long mate.

 

Whisper when you travel

in the fey lands.

In winds and breaths of air

each curse is heard,

Capricious creatures cover

more than Highlands,

Their charm to hear

each pent-up, heartfelt word.

Mothers’ Eyes

Reposes she

With cheeks and brow so fair

Image framed

By skeins of flaxen hair

Puckered lips

Forming glowing pout

Recumbent God

Seen without one doubt

 

Lashes flutter

In dreams of golden flight

Tucked into bed

Safe love secures her night

No demons here

No haunted childhood psyche

A child at rest

All should have her like

 

Portraits of injured innocence

Suffuse my working hours

Souls may keen

At battles without power

A helping hand

From those who know the just

Love them all

As adults we most surely must

 

 

A little one

Though worldly without wise

Compassion demands

We see all through mothers’ eyes.