Like most people in the UK, I was as horrified at the spontaneous riots that occurred in my country in August 2011. I was equally horrified by the predictable and disconnected response of the political elite, whose condemnation of what they could not comprehend, only served to demonstrate how obsolete these ‘gangs of the elite’ have become. They have created a culture of…
I
Tottenham burns
Brixton burns
Enfield burns
We all burn in truth.
Thrusting young hopefuls
The hope of petrol
Dowsing
Divining
Scenting
Praying
Throwing flaming rocks of emptiness
At the walls of silence
That entomb dead men in taxis
Dead men in dole queues
Dead men in commerce
Dead men in banks
Dead men in queen’s colours
And pantomime castles.
Those hopeful hipsters
Switchblade ninja’s
Expressing their education with muscle and
Vomit up cheap polish vodka
Vomit up carefree dance
Vomit in concrete toxin tombs
Vomit up the immigrant fathers of past empires
Whose vomit is their sons with no horizon.
They vomit on the walls of don’t’s
Don’t move
Don’t play ball
Don’t run
Don’t walk
Don’t work
Don’t smoke
Don’t hope
Don’t talk
Don’t aspire
Don’t believe
Don’t breathe
The land of don’t
Says ‘do be like me’
And three generations of ‘do not’ rise up
Throw stones at their captors
And tomorrow return to the boredom
Of the Great Do Not Britain
Of concrete prison cells
Formed at the do not be free dispatch box of democracy
That proclaims
‘In prison you can be holy’.
II
Holy is freedom
Holy is the road
Holy the spit we depart of
Holy the sweat we wash with
Holy is the fire, used to bring truth
Holy is the angel – that brings wind and fire and storms
Of righteousness for the ‘Do Not’s to eat
Holy is job of cleaning streets
Holy is the gold we adorn our ego’s in
Holy is his Presence in our waking steps
Holy is the dream you receive
When sleeping in the nude
Holy is the ground the ancients walked over
Holy is the echo of their souls embedded in flesh and fury
Holy, Holy, Holy
Bursting to breathe on the 3 generations of ‘Do Not’
Holy is the way we must walk again
Holy is London, Liverpool and Leeds
Holy is the cattle fields that give their beef to eat
Holy is the railway, road and river
Holy is the car, the lorry and boat
Holy is the throne we must sit on
A righteous hot and holy place.
Holy is the tattoo of the English
And the roar of the lion
Holy is the breath it breathes
Holy is the lion of peace
Holy is the lion of justice
Holy is the lion of just trade
Holy is the banker who does not charge interest
Holy is the Cathedral that is open to all
Holy is the ‘hoodie’ who caresses the weak
Holy is the politician who speaks truth
Holy is the soldier who is quiet and still
Holy is the violent man who holds a baby in his hands
Holy is the prime minister who walks on his knees
Holy is the Arch Bishop who is not easy to please
Holy is the businessman who creates wealth for all
Holy is the poet who has courage to call
Holy is the hill that we must climb
Holy is the mountain that stands just behind
Holy Holy Holy the cherubim sing
They kiss our earth and make us sing
Sept 2011
Like alot