stop the stories being told
take away their pages
and let them read Kindles.
But Jeremy Hunt quakes in the knowledge
that so much art is born out of a recession.
so many garrets warmed by the friction
of lead on paper
and acrylic on wood.
so many frustrated hands
don’t hold 9k fees
but belong to minds
that burn with inspiration.
Even if they’re not at your job centres
filling in your forms
there’s just not enough time
when even the cost of pen ink is soaring
and the theatre on the corner just lost its funding
and the pub that runs the open mic night just ran dry.
Every school’s classed as independent.
someone’s got to fill the void
when Michael Gove’s rewriting the National Curriculum,
swapping Drama classes for Classical Greek
and Art for Health and Social Care.
Smuggle scripts through underground caves
sell Shakespeare on the black market
override the airways
with Billy Bragg and Bob Dylan
just don’t let Cameron’s kids turn to stone.

© Jess Green

Gove takes control of the curriculum

------------------------------------------------------------------
Jess Green is a 22 year old poet facing full time unemployment but performing on every stage possible, held back only by bus fare.

A faceless Buddha stares out into nothing
his features rubbed out by wiser men
He and this bare brown earth

bear witness to the vicissitudes of empires
which every now and then
bring in a hundred thousand men

led by swanky generals
full of ideas and strategies
who invariably leave clueless or dead

beaten by voices on the wind
that rages through ravines
and around strange shapes

in the looming terrain
a landscape which consumes them
absorbing something from the invader

before belching them out
to kick him along the silken road
full of substances –

yet empty of all substance
Just like the bodhisattva
sitting captive in Kabul museum

once a saviour
now unable to save himself.

© David Francis Barker 2011

Will UK troops follow US out of Afghanistan?

--------------------------------------------
David Francis Barker: 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.' francisbarkerart.wordpress.com

You don't care care too much,
what others think or feel, it's clear.
The channels of your mind
are kept clean and
uncluttered with thought
of how society changes.
So that, to you, what was, is now
and ever thus will be.
Or similar dread
pronouncement.
While the wannabe like you group,
will splutter about
"political correctness' and
"Only saying what everyone thinks".
Which ignores the fact that
anyone, who thinks,
doesn't think like you.
The problem is not the thinking
it's the lack of simple
human decency.

© Hamish Mack

Women less productive - EMA boss
-------------------------------------------
Hamish is a 51 year old New Zealander, married with 2 children. He has been writing poems for about 3 years, and has had a some published. He also blogs, at Light of Passage.

They became unwilling sailors first and then, submariners,

These farmers and shopkeepers, their children, servants, wives,

All suddenly captives of the ocean, all lost in chains,

Buried beneath the sky, the sea, until the murky earth

Reclaimed them and grew fossils in a rib-shaped cage

Of rotting wood and iron and torn sails. They slept for centuries

Like fishermen decaying in too far-flung, careless nets,

Caught up by ankle or by throat, the salt upon them a preservative

So that today we find them, like the next page in a book-



-turned over in astonishment, a copperplate illusion

Of some smothered truth, mute heralds of the future

From a dim-lit past, such buried kisses, fuel for a candle flame

That flickers in the empty dark we rummage in for energy,

Like a faint light at the back of the deepest cave.

If they could speak, these souls might sing in unison:

Forget us at your peril, we are the last of the bravado

We are what remains, and if you hold a hand to us

We’ll surely burn you,

one,

by one,

by name.

©  Helena Nolan

Ancient remains found in Dublin
----------------------------------------
Helena's work has appeared in anthologies and literary magazines including; The Stinging Fly, The Moth, and the Spoken Ink audio website. Last year she was runner-up in the Patrick Kavanagh Award.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Editor's note: Each day, we move about the land, but how often are we conscious of the layered history beneath our feet?

Time tracked strangely through those days, fear
shape-shifting seconds into years,
marking months with tallies of tears.

Clutching still, they held their hope tight
and sleepless through the dark, dragged nights
waited dumbly for each dawn’s light.

Those were the days they felt faith rock
and turned the locks against the knock
and listened to the ticking clock.

Still the dread slid under the door,
soaked their skin through every pore
and sweated at their very core.

Until at last the final knock
heralds the springing of their lock
On hope; their child’s gone. Stop the clock.

© Rachel North

Levi Bellfield found guilty of abducting and killing teenager
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rachel is a trainee poet and failed domestic goddess. The latter is entirely due to the fact that her favourite pastime is sitting in the sunshine reading a good book.

What a week! Not only have we published the work of three poets new to Poetry24, but we've had a storming response to Clare's call for 'modern nursery rhymes' on Twitter. Social networking at its best.

At the top of the week, Greg Gibson drew inspiration from the bizarre actions of a TV actress, with 'The Extra', and Fran Hill placed Amy Winehouse under the microscope in 'A Serbian concert goer's nursery rhyme'. Although this was Fran's entry for our 'Saturday Challenge' we couldn't resist publishing it on Wednesday. And it's her blend of topicality and humour, that makes Fran the winner of our first challenge. Congratulations to her.

David Francis Barker contributed to Summer Solstice celebrations with his evocative 'English Blue', while 'A North African Cable' by Douglas Polk and Deirdre Cartmill's 'Hunger' gave us cause to turn our thoughts to more sobering issues, pointing out the shameful realities of human struggle against oppression, and the worsening food crisis in developing countries.

Finally, a big thank you to all those who have left comments. It makes such a difference when poetry becomes a two-way conversation. Keep them coming!

Have a great Sunday.

Martin.

Last week we asked for your topical nursery rhymes, and waited with bated breath. Sing a song of £4.99? Three mice with visual impairments?
... and waited. Then I had a go...


little Jack Horner,
sat in a corner
eating his five a day
not like his sis
who was so obese
they filmed her for a Channel 5 documentary...


Then we got this cracker from Fran Hill, which was so topical we stole it and used it for Wednesday's post.


And so, our favourite entries:


The Riddle of the Outrider

I gallop, we gallop, "For freedom!" we cry,
a hundred-and-seventy horses and I.
We ride through the kingdom of sabres and palm,
just doing the shopping and spreading alarm,
defying the princes to toss us in jail,
we're bearing the standard and blazing a trail.
So jump in your saddle and spur on your steed,
we'll gallop together and start a stampede!

Who am I?


© Anthony Baverstock


If you didn't work out the answer came from another entry:

There was a young lady from Saudi
Who wanted to drive her own Audi,
She tooted her horn
And she was reborn.
And the rest of the world shouted 'How'dy!'

© Brenda Bryant/Rinkly Rimes


Then we put out the call on Twitter, and here's what we got in response... not bad in 140 characters or less...

Hey diddle diddle,
the chav's on the fiddle,
unemployment is over the moon

@MiketheRelic

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children and they're all paid for by you.

@adamgrilli


Rockabye baby in the tree top,
I'd get us a house when the mortgage rates drop.

@remittancegirl

The Grand Old Duke of York,
He had 10,000 men,
He marched them out on the search for oil
and straight to Afghanistan.

@MiketheRelic

The Grand Ol Duke of York.
He had 10,000 men.
But not enough equipment or supplies
to send up the hill with them.

@aprilcol

Little Miss Muffet, in an apartment,
Shooting her meth in her veins,
She felt all these spiders,
crawling inside her
So she scratched her skin all away!

@agidgetwidget

Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
his wife could eat no lean.
And so betwixt the two of them,
they made a Quorn tagine

@simewiz

Four and Twenty Blackbirds baked in a pie.
Then add some balsamic vinegar
and chopped thyme, whack it in the oven, Pukka!

@IcebergsaysFred

Simple Simon met a pieman,
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
is your pastry Gluten Free?

@rantyman

Jack & Jill went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water.
YOU could help a child like Jack or Jill
by sponsoring 5p a day

@MrsTrellis

Jack and Jill went up the hill,
but failed to carry out a comprehensive Health & Safety risk assessment

@jazzchantoozie

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,
Humpty Dumpty was very safe
as health & safety stipulated
a harness & helmet be worn

@Donna_Galloway

Humpty Dumpty sprayed on a wall
used his iPhone to YouTube it all...

@JulianRWPower

hey diddle diddle
the banks are on the fiddle

@Thebubblegunman

Hey Diddle diddle the cat played the fiddle
and Simon Cowell booked him there and then

@Ppeterthompson

Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,
kissed the girls and made them sue ...
When the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie kissed them too.

@simewiz

Georgie Porgie, Puddin' and Pie,
Crashed into snappy snaps when he was high

@adamgrilli


Polly put the kettle on,
Polly put the kettle on,
we'll all have tea.
I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME YOU BASTARD!

@Donna_Galloway


Editor's note: The winner of our first 'Saturday Challenge' will be announced in our Sunday Editorial, tomorrow, 26th June.