The Beginning

We marched as if our lives depended on it.

We marched together, the young and the old,

The Monks, the Buddhists,

The Fire-fighters and Teachers;

And believe me it seemed

The Police too walked with us.

Marching for the poor, for the weak,

For the frail, for all

Condemned to live in Austerity’s gaol

Of hunger and cold.

A sea unstoppable, in our thousands we marched

Deep into the dark heart of the City,

Where temples to Mammon rose up around,

Like a forest of stone.

Do you not see

How their roots go a long way down?

The rot goes a long way down.

The Capitol was breached;

It was cleansed with our tide,

Our footsteps on The Strand.

Marching down Fleet Street;

The echoes of History

In the alleys of urchins,

Past the dead eyes of Wellington,

The blind stare of Nelson,

The stone faces of those who guard the elected elite.

Upon pavements, the perfumed ones

Sidled past, staring.

Was that fear in their eyes?

Or just glazed indifference?

I saw the fires they feared, the masked revellers,

Carnival flares burning brightly,

Hearts beating faster,

Shouts growing louder.

We do not believe in your authority.

We believe in communities;

We believe in togetherness;

We believe in kindness and in compassion.

On that day one quarter of a million,

Marched together as if all our lives depended upon it.

For we are many; and you are few.

And this is just the beginning.

© Lisa Rossetti June 2015

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Slipping Through The Cracks

I'm not going to lie and say I'm a happy person all the time.

There are days I don't want to be around anyone, literally.  My illnesses affect me in a vastly complex ways. I have a wonderful GP who I wouldn't be here if I hadn't met over fifteen years ago.

He and a few others over the years have said I should write down what I feel and maybe get it off my chest. This more important than ever now there are such high demands for mental health support and limited one-on-one sessions. So here is a snippet.

Slipping through the cracks of what used to be a life.

People turning away from me because my dark thoughts aren't so nice.

I've been feeling down for quite some time now: four years, maybe five.

Memories of better times and now my daughter are what keep me ticking by.

Week in week out at night I'm sat alone.

I can't watch the TV and abject misery it brings.

I've heard so many tell me, "You're young. Things will change..."

With two chronic illnesses, a little girl, no prospects 

and no support, no confidant to engage.

I wonder how people can pass on by when I am one of millions more, 

shuffled to the side-lines abandoned and ignored.

They say I'm angry , bitter and mean, no wonder I am alone....

But once I had support and was standing tall, all on my own.

I've had that support taken from me; there's no one left to hear my cries.

I can't take much more of these cuts;

I can see why others have already died.

I am angry that alone I have to fight:

for my dignity and fair treatment just to stay alive.

I didn't choose to live this way. It's not a choice anyone makes

but I slipped between the pavers of the rules governments make.

I couldn't toe the line enough; my minds not built that way.

I’m creative and loving and whimsical;

but that's nowhere near enough these days.

Society's become so crippled with wise cracking and a vicious streak,

with everyone's inadequacies barely hidden underneath.

To point at others and mock them and deflect the heat from you:

it's a game of poker faces, laughing – until the fingers point at you.

So who is next to feel this despair then, who's next to be singled out?

Because these cuts are only just starting of that I have no doubt.

If you think that your life's perfect and people like me bring it on ourselves,

remember I wasn't always like this. I used to be someone else.

I had a job, I worked hard; and played hard too, just like you.

Then an illness took me over and that could so easily happen to you too.

Circumstances balance on a razors edge. We never realise

what we  were truly blessed with till we are left with nothing.

.....

Where is the exit? I'm off!

Anyone else who feels like this sometimes, I hope this helps you see you are not alone xx

June, 2015, A Contributor

Another World Is Possible

Another word is possible. 

This is what my heart insists.

It's possible to learn, to grow, 

to rediscover chances missed;

but it’s not by war or weaponry 

our future will be won:

a loving kindness serves us more

than missiles, armies, bombs and guns.

It’s suspicion undermines us; 

and our folly, and our greed;

our vices feed those fears that grow 

to shroud the light we need

to bud and bloom and show ourselves 

in all our lovely grace

and so live well, in harmony, 

in justice, and in peace.

Now our madness overtakes us;

we are beggars, we are thieves;

and, powerful or powerless, 

we share the same disease:

a corporate greed oppresses us 

and woos us with its honeyed lies.

Another world is possible – 

so wake, and shine – and rise.

Abigail Wyatt

Poor Tom’s A-cold

Where do you sleep at night?I asked him.

He looked so tired. With his

Blond beard, blue eyes (good teeth),

He could have been a young crusader

In his stony niche,

Huddled in a sleeping bag cloak.

His boots were in good shape.

In the Roodee car park mostly, he said

It’s drier under the cars.

What happened to you, Tom?

He talks of a break-up with his girlfriend,

Loss of his job and flat.

I had a car once, he tells me.

Four months sanction means

He will be living rough through the bitter winter months.

“Regrettably there are reduced places for the homeless due to cuts.”

I fetch him a pastry from the Tesco Express.

Come Christmas though, the Hospice will give me a hot meal,

And a shower; I do want my dignity.

I told him, I’ll come back.

But he was gone, moved on

By the police with new instructions:

“No homeless to be seen in the city centre.”

We are proud of our historical city, and

Its many tourist attractions:

Our wonderful heritage.

Lisa Rossetti

May 2015

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