Marxist. Trade Unionist. Socialist-feminist. Author. Poet. Speaker. Tutor. RMT ex-Exec. Workers' Liberty. Autie. Bi. PUFC fan.
Obituaries and memories of people who have died.
Memento mori.
The child amongst us
Finds a four leaf clover
On the woman's grave next to her dad's.
The cynic amongst us says
It wasn't very lucky for her, was it?
The herbologist amongst us observes that
It's not a four leaf clover
It's wild sorrel
If you eat it, it tastes like lemon.
It isn't luck, it's life
And death.
It tastes bitter.
For Brian Munro, 1968-2014
How are you feeling today, my friend?
"Pretty shit", you said
And how do you feel at another year's end?
"Now I feel nothing - I'm dead"
You said you'd be molecules when you're gone
To the earth and the sky wide and far
You left us your words and your memory fires on
Your loved ones just look to the stars
A poem on the occasion of the death of King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia.
Royal flag at half-mast flies
Forgotten victim sadly sighs
Only another despot cries
When a bloody tyrant dies
The great and good will eulogise
Sing loud his praise to blood-red skies
Soft-wrap his crimes in sweet disguise
When a bloody tyrant dies
Click here to read this sad but fitting tribute to Bob Crow from UNISON activist Rosalind Hanmer, who had talked with Bob at the launch of Janine's book 'Plundering London Underground' a few weeks before his death.
When an officer was killed in World War One, the British Army told his next of kin by telegram. Lower-ranked men’s deaths were reported on Form B104-82. ‘Calamity’ is a poem by E.H. Visiak. Private Ted was my great uncle.
Visiak’s Calamity once said
From heart to heart grief’s wireless sped
No officer, this Hoxton lad
No telegram to mum and dad
Grief’s letters only slowly plod
Five weeks through Flanders’ shell-churned sod
’Til death’s cold-morning cockerel crowed
Outside a house on Edgware Road
Five weeks false hope for Private Ted
At last they learned their son was dead
In England and Wales, women are killed by current or former male partners at the rate of two a week. Click the names highlighted in this poem to read the stories behind the statistics.
Thanks to Counting Dead Women for its work in telling these truths.
An alliterative ode on the occasion of the passing of an aristocrat:
Deborah the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire has died
Did ever a life-end alliterate with such alarming aloofness?
The chatelaine of Chatsworth, champion of chutney, Charles' chum
The Prince's pal passed away peacefully, apparently
In leaving your life, you leave your eulogist loads of licence for lyrical soliloquy
With the death of Debo the doughty, dashing duchess, a dynasty dies
The malodorous Mitfords, mates with Moseley, friends with fascists, hosted by Hitler
Who, she chastised, lacked Churchill's charisma
I'll do the eulogy if they like - but it's unlikely they'd like it a lot
Or even a little. What a loss.
Her name is Reeva
Reeva Steenkamp
Not 'Oscar Pistorius' girlfriend'
Not 'model'
Not 'reality TV star'
Her name is Reeva
Her name is Reeva
She was not just a model
But also a law graduate
She was not just a reality TV star
But also a campaigner against violence
The story is about her killing
Not about his fame
Or it ought to be
In February 2013, homeless man Daniel Gauntlett died of hypothermia on the doorstep of an empty bungalow in Aylesford, Kent.
Homeless man dies frozen on steps of empty bungalow
Man named Daniel Gauntlett
Headline of Kent local paper
Just words
But real death, real tragedy, real outrage
