A Network of Writing and Community Publishers



Third World Britain

January 2016


 20/02/2016

Dreaming in East London

Strolling along the pavement along Whitechapel Road
I don’t wait for the rain to dry out
I just keep on moving
For the beauty of spring to pass by
A hundred ground birds with heart and soul
That time has made in the eyes of life
The best of joy of Jimi Hendrix with Foxey Lady
and The Chapel of Love
Walking into Brick Lane with all the sweet tastes
With fish, rice, and vegetables
And what if after so many words, the world of the working class
In itself does not survive the barriers that they have been born
To live and struggle for a better world
In a sea of tears rising and weeping mothers
With big smiling gentrifiers flying high
As the machine displaces working people
And the holy name of the Lord of the Land
With our hopes and pains and poverty
And an end to police brutality and racism
From 52 years ago, the echoes of a song by Sam Cooke
I know that a change will come soon, oh yeah

© Carlos Raúl Dufflar May 3, 2006
The Bread is Rising




Brick Lane Memoir (& Beyond)

the crowded enclave
is the last destination for a few nights
that began when the bus driver sent us on the right track from Shoreditch
but became a much shorter walk as a journey from Docklands
on either end you see the remnants of what once was
but now the scent of rose oil in front of the masjid
the unburnt incense as a companion
to a soul sensation
the cross streets passed are the arms stretching out to tell a truth:
hot herbs are strengths of the spirit
in a valley I best remember in the night
yet with the drumbeats of a noon work day

© Jan-7 Feb 2016 Ángel L. Martínez
The Bread is Rising

 


 

Third World Britain

He hopped and skipped and minded the cracks
On pavements that now
Hurt his back ~ despite the cardboard mattress
He’s cold and starts to shiver. Sleep and rest escape him.
He stares into the night
Aware there are increasing numbers
Who share this lonesome plight.
He lost the job, then the spouse.
Lost his dignity… and then the house.
He began to seek the shadows...had no voice…
Being homeless, there is no choice.
He goes, reluctantly to food banks or soup kitchens,
Where some folk deposit dwindling donations.
Where the desolate meet, sometimes talk, and eat
And then withdraw again, to
Empty loneliness on the street.
Where there once was warmth and love,
Pride, purpose and dignity
A secure life, complete-
For him, there’s now solitary confinement
On third world Britain’s streets

Ellen Reardon January 2016
Newham Writers

 


 

On Maggie's Doorstep

 

My Backyard

 


Oof



 

Third World Britain


Let's count them:
one World is the one that we
leave in sleep,
nightmarish or better still hopes played out
before us, the second-lasting only seconds-
is an all-sorts from the book of days, no wonder
we wake up laughing to the Third World,
until we try to add it up.

Bruce Barnes
Friend of TheFED




FLOODING WARNING

Theme dream
"Third world Britain"
Some one said London
Is leading city important
Leads in fashion dreams hearts
Dreams across worldwide visit
Excited outside souls young
Struggle journey arrive Great Britain
Running water toilet seat medicine
Education edit library public parks
Music song class style mobile internet
Sell buy date
London leads glories across globe
Theme Thyme Thymon Times
Flooding warning
Floods alerting
Don't forsake me
Not forsaken
"Third World Britain"

John Joseph Sheehy
***





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