Two crowds of demonstrators facing off across double lines of harassed, interfacing riot police each crowd spouting the bias of whichever media feed dogs have been pushing their buttons there is much darning (and worse) as the police struggle to keep them hemmed in whilst a journo darts in and tries to buttonhole some talking heads for the news needles his victims to say something outrageous but the crowd gathers round and rips into the man with the microphone, who wishes he was home this Saturday afternoon taking a nap instead of mining this admittedly rich seam of newsworthy division – newsworthy though hardly novel – politicians of both sides have been dog-whistling immigration to whip up votes for decades – a pattern that no amount of careful work with a seam picker – will undo and ease the tensions…
Demonstrators gather during a “No Kings” protest against U.S. President Donald Trump’s policies in Washington, D.C., on Oct. 18, 2025.
A nation birthed by bold revolution now suffering a jumped-up would-be King despite the founders’ strong constitution how could their law be such a broken thing – poisoned so, by the cunning fascist’s sting… The tyrant can’t be broken using force – garnered a band of brutish thugs of course but being laughed at – one thing he can’t stand marching in fancy dress, one such recourse a steadfast, strong and democratic band!
I am one of the fortunate ones a member of the last cycle of breeding in the North American summer and as such I got to fly South past California – could have stopped there but by then I had the travel bug and I, and many of my cohort carried on to Mexico, not for the heat Oh no! We settled in the great pine forest in the mountains, where it was warm enough as long as we huddled together to survive the winter
We curtained the trees with our colour – the reason we are called monarchs allegedly – orange in honour of William the Third of England – William of Orange – so I guess we were named by the Brits before the proto-Republicans got their act together and kicked their oppressors out – anyway, the name stuck and no one thought fit to change it even now, when Americans are driven to hold “No Kings!” parades – we butterflies – the most numerous in North America retain our royal soubriquet and regal we were as we rose en masse from the Mexican trees to head North again for the summer and it’s not just for the food of course but for the perpetuation of the species
I would like to tell you of my life as a caterpillar and later a pupa but as I overheard a young teacher explaining to his class what happens inside the pupal case is so complete a transformation it’s as if we liquefy and alchemically transform into a completely new creature and with it, gone all memories of that earlier life – of course – we see them – the caterpillars our offspring munching their way through milkweed but I can’t imagine their lives ae very interesting – not compared to we adults, travelling thousands of miles seeing the sights, hanging out together and then becoming one of the sights ourselves – a wonder of nature!
That teacher also said that we are of the genus Danaus Which is perhaps the masculine of Danae upon whose great- great-grand daughter Zeus came as a shower of gold – and that is surely a fitting origin story for the naming of we Monarchs…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, it is Open Link Night and lillian invites us to submit a poem of our own choice and if possible, to join on Saturday to read them out live…
This poem came out of my writing group, where, after reading The Promotion by James Tate, we were prompted to write the compressed life story of a previous life as an animal…
October, you are no more the harbinger of Autumn The green elm with the one great bough of gold came in late August – the yellowing of drought stealing the march on your glorious displays and dooming those boughs to die with your first frost for those burned leaves made no antifreeze for the tree to suck back in before the leaves their final purpose fulfilled into the grass slip[ped] one by one… And too came branches near breaking with berries their colour near drowning out the last green leaves turning the trees a brown when seen from afar another false Autumnal hue and a feast too early for the migrant birds which land in October they will find the berries gone over, their bounty wasted and now the land is draped in true October colours we may be lulled into thinking the season too runs true but like those birds in coming hunger mired will Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due, awake to the unseasonal “beast from the East” or interminable drought or rain or heat? October you are not the only month no longer acting true to expectations – all is climate changed…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Dora in Poetics invites us to trip the October Light Fantastic and although that beautiful display has begun, it is not the whole story this year, and indeed, for coming years, and I find I cannot celebrate with unalloyed pleasure…
We are The dreamers of dreams But they are the creators of nightmares She cannot bear to listen to the news now He oscillates between feeling fury and futility They control the narrative with false news We cannot believe the lies that others will swallow They wave false flags to justify Their repressive responses We wonder where the bullies came from That swell their ranks They raise their fists in anger We throw up our hands in horror They wave their guns in the air We waiver in fear for our lives But he nurtures resistance And she writes poems and placards He investigates logistics She strategizes They start a movement Others join the march All are non-violent but They shout “We the People!” And congregate to be counted He who would be strong Looks weaker by the day They garner solidarity We can push back I can have hope…
The opening line of this poem is taken from “Ode” by the poet Arthur O’Shaughnessy and first published in 1873.[1] It is the first poem in O’Shaughnessy’s collection Music and Moonlight (1874). In it, he extols the role of artists in creating new worlds and the poem was put to music by Edward Elgar as The Music Makers (Op. 69) – Elgar’s final choral work. Both poem and choral piece should inspire us to come our of the shadows currently being cast by authoritarian regimes around the world today, and to stand together…
When the last redneck Republican realises his true enemy and stirs with his Democrat neighbour the great melting pot of red and blue to an unroyal purple
When an eighty-year-old Israeli and Palestinian jointly place the last skull in the Nakba-Holocaust Ossiary Memorial and agree to share a country
When single use plastic is abhorred and the use of oil for virgin plastic rationed and whole towns comb their beach for plastic to recycle
When the last billionaire gives away his last coin to the last poor person weeping as he is buoyed by sheer relief
When global warming is stabilised and the last bird species threatened with extinction breeds the first nest of the rest of their species
When the last petrol head learns to love the glint of sunlight on windmill blades and drives off in a small electric car which is no fashion or status symbol
When the last piece of the fractured world is fitted into place – fastened with a seam of shining gold and balanced once again
When I dropped a jar of jam on my favourite butter dish, I turned to Kintsugi to fix it…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Mish in Poetics invites us to write about “Building from the Broken” which could be a reference to the Japanese art of Kintsugi, in which a broken piece of porcelain is mended with a glue containing powdered gold resulting in a new and enhanced aesthetic…
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
All my work is done on this computer, be it work work or writing work…
Work
If you have been following my A to Z this year, you will know that I have covered a fair few of the jobs I have done (I like to say that I have forgotten more jobs than most people have had), but what of the nature of work and working? I suppose that most of my jobs have fallen either into physical work like signwriting and cheffing, or else desk jobs such as administration/management and writing, but there are a few other classifications like teaching, call-centre work and cinema projectionist. Nowadays, as most people have caught up to me in the retrain every decade mode, at interview, it’s all about transferrable skills and the dreaded “describe a situation where you…”. For example, mixing paint and indeed painting a wall with a brush, require much the same sensitive touch as making a roux-based sauce and a fluency with spreadsheets is required in running a restaurant, calculating quantities of steel required in a building project or keeping track of one’s poetry output – who it was written for and where it has been published. As I have got older, my work has revolved more and more around the computer above – and just to think that when I was at school, there were only 3 (Mainframe)computers in the whole of Oxford and PC’s and Laptops were not even a twinkle in somebody’s eye – who knew where it would end up – not me!
War
As a teenager, with history lessons at school, and my mother’s war stories, whilst she still told them, I gradually became aware of the Second World War which finished just 10 years before I was born, of the First world War which my Grandad had been in and of various far distant conflicts going on around the world, the Suez Crisis, the Cuban Missile Crisis, Vietnam. And yet, there was a sense that World Wars at least were safely in the past, as Dylan said – we were friends with the Germans now, the world order was dedicated to peace and stability, the Rule of Law and the fruit of that stability was the Global Village. The current crop of authoritarian dictators, some, like Putin, desperately trying to turn the clock back to the grim days (as others see them) of the Cold War when Russia was Great, and the man he helped to power who also wants to Make America Great Again, despite the fact that it already was great my most measures and considered so by many people – those men and other dictators of their ilk, have succeeded in shattering the stability and raised the threat level in ways we can hardly comprehend. Neither, many would say, does Trump, and whilst his name will likely be a byword for infamy, one day, things are likely to get worse before they get better. So far from the cosy certainties that I grow up with, what sort of future is being handed to my grandchildren, I cannot say…
Words
At 70, I feel I am a little too old and slightly broken, to become an activist carrying banners on the street, but if you have a computer and access to the internet, you have a voice and you can research and learn, search for truths, write – essays, emails, op-eds, and poems, then deploy them for the things that matter to you – wage war 0r at least counter-insurgency with words, for democracy, the environment, the downtrodden – and lest you think your voice won’t be heard or matter, an ocean is made up of drops of water and every drop counts towards the main…
Here are two of my poems, they are about America, the first written before Trump’s second election, the second afterwards, and in part, responding to the first…
America (I Would Like to Visit You)
America I would like to visit you but I have a fear of repeatedly feeling déjà vu having seen your treasures and tragedies over and over on big screens and small I have come to absorb through books and films and blogs – those love-children of Letter From America some understanding of your ways.
It is only my personal view others see you quite differently from The Land of Opportunity to The Great Satan. I also, of course, know real Americans both in the flesh and in the virtual world and even have relatives a whole branch of the family. Since my grandfather’s brother emigrated before the First World War he and his descendants have demonstrated the positives the opportunity to make good – it might have been less opportune if he had not been white.
Now I understand the wealth of America could not have been so great without the dispossession of the previous occupants or the relocation of millions of slaves who even after emancipation worked a different kind of bondage in the factories of Chicago.
I cannot preach us British have no right… just this week I read a supplement of The [Manchester] Guardian on how Manchester’s cotton wealth was the fruit of slavery just at one remove and the Guardian famously liberal did little to recognise even its own failure to comment until now.
America so much is squeezed into your great cities each pressure-cooking a distinct language which is so much more than mere accent but in between the vast wildernesses still exist free of graffiti the poor of the cities not banned but excluded from access nevertheless by lacking the means to get there
And so America you are a land of opposites of natural beauty and urban ugliness of obscene wealth and unforgivable poverty of liberal tolerance and extreme hatred. Maybe this is true of all countries but America – You proclaimed yourself to be the Great and the Good to be the World’s Policeman but all your policemen carry guns and so therefore do the bad guys and the poor and the rich by inalienable right.
America Dorothy has pulled back the curtain and the little man revealed does not match up to the rhetoric or the dream.
But still I would like to visit you America…
Written in response to “America [superstorm]” by Kathleen Graber from her collection – The River Twice
America (Krisis*: at the Crossroads)
America I would still like to visit you perhaps even more urgently – the rough beast slouched towards Bethlehem now born – a second coming the world thought impossible now come to pass mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
How long before those Great Lakes are poisoned by polluters set free to do their dirty work and national parks still safe from the graffiti of the poor but not from the mineral mining gutting of once again empowered rich cost corner-cutting pipelines fracture and spill their black gold on sacred reservations and beyond.
To appease his base your President has pulled your role as policeman to the world citing the cost but alongside military might your soft power saved lives now already doomed as vaccinations, retro-virals and simply food are withdrawn allies against oppression abandoned in favour of the oppressors and that is without the chaos of world markets disarrayed the world order disrupted by a thoughtless human hand grenade.
We British cannot talk – we also had a Prime Minister unelected, full of hubris, who made leader by her party with no electoral mandate fancied herself a disruptor and lasted less time than a lettuce but whose damage lives on
– small fry compared to POTUS whose power, mandated, he claims has already hurt the whole world in ways no magic reset can reverse and in truth, his mandate was less than half of “We the people…” his vandals slashing government to smash the laws that hold them back from moving money – poor to rich once more…
The “Land of Opportunity” that favoured my grandfather’s brother and many another immigrant now demonises the souls who would make their way too to share the possibilities of a bright future for their families even as the undocumented labour that oils the wheels of the American economy – fentanyl and the war on drugs a fig leaf to the injustice of forced repatriation of those already embedded in America their dreams and families shattered by the spurious scourge of anti-immigrant sentiment pitting the poor against the poorer still.
So America I would still like to visit you but I am not sure you would let me in with my opinions here on record – sewn into the worldwide web where creepy billionaires now rule the roost and spread the lies that fooled America’s poor into electing their nemesis by inflaming the emotion of their abandoned sensibilities with false promises wrapped up in fake news – how long before you see the truth and can Americans, as they have before revolt against the white minority who would install Gilead the billionaires bent on plunder the bigoted descendants of the slave-owning South.
And if you, the people of America find your voice and strength again quell the krisis reassert the values that had America support the world order the rule of law, the equality of man then perhaps I will yet get to visit America…
Our love, equality’s blood now spills and foams Stabbed by fantasists and dictators with loud fuss We mourn the loss of freedom taken from us
Supporters held in thrall, dismayed as truth hits home Democracy is murdered as those fools stand by – witless Our love, equality’s blood now spills and foams Stabbed by fantasists and dictators with loud fuss
We poets must respond and fight with sharp-edged poems Not just to mourn our lost love, blazon our distress But as a call to arms for all to rise and seek redress Our love, equality’s blood now spills and foams Stabbed by fantasists and dictators with loud fuss We mourn the loss of freedom taken from us…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Grace in Poetry Forms invites us to try the English Madrigal – a complex form which was often a song and often too, referring to love. This is a somewhat different love song for the dark times we live in – not just in America but across many countries around the world that will nevertheless be made worse by what is happening there.
Key Features of the English Madrigal
Content: Often includes a theme of love
Structure of an English madrigal
*Usually written in iambic pentameter. *Comprised of three stanzas: a tercet, quatrain, and sestet. *All three of the lines in the opening tercet are refrains.
Form: A thirteen-line form in three stanzas: Stanza 1] Tercet -Three lines Stanza 2] Quatrain – Four lines Stanza 3] Sestet – Six lines
What price the truth, is truth now dead that leaders spout – thoughtlessly said unfiltered guff from mouths uncouth distract the people – the poorly led from what’s the real that will be rued is truth now dead, what price the truth…
A stanza of 6 lines – any number of stanzas permitted 8 syllables per line end rhyme scheme BbabaA (often written in iambic tetrameter.) L1 and L6 of each stanza is written in 2 hemistichs i.e the line split in two, with commas The 2 halves of L1 are inverted but repeated exactly as a refrain in L6. For example: L1 In winter’s cold, as moonlight beams L6 as moonlight beams, in winter’s cold.
N.B. The 2 halves of L1 contain and set the a and b rhymes thus: RRRA, RRRB xxxxxxxb xxxxxxxa xxxxxxxb xxxxxxxa RRRB, RRRA
“It needn’t be tinder, this juncture of the year” Conor O’Callaghan – January Drought
I – Hand-wringing…
Tinseltown they called it The Hollywood sign above it On mountain and canyons covered With scrub like gasoline tinder Rich palaces of dreams rendered To which many young locusts aspired But Santa Ana winds have burned Those houses to naught but ash Chimneys only gravestones to the cash Will Angelinos now have learned Money, for Nature is no match Challenge it and there’s a catch Will L.A. be a lesson to us all That Damocles’ sword’s about to fall…
II – Thunderbolt slinging…
“Come friendly bombs and rain on Slough” Quipped English Poet Laureate Enough with all this rational debate No one heeds “We the People” now Let Mar-a-Lago flooded be With Trump inside preferably Let insurance baulk at rebuilding The Palace-ades of rich and famous And let’s see what Trump really does When Global Warming’s truly a thing So unlike wise old King Canute The science is no longer moot And yes, for sure we all will suffer Till Nature trumps the monstrous duffer…
Andrew Wilson, 2025
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft invites us to write a Palinode in which two verses take contrary views and around a quotation relating to the New Year. I chose the Conor O’Callaghan one which seems almost prescient to the L.A. fires that are occurring so early in the New Year…
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