I weep of a world where the Poetry bird’s wings are clipped.
The curlew waits to be grounded.
As cuts to the arts, libraries, our culture
are left un-shelved.
The dust swept away by a government that has left our culture smashed to pieces.
All dead writers are sobbing in their graves.
Each poet struggling to save it.
But then I remember.
That those in power, each gate keeper savours the fire in that aphrodisiac.
Teresa May will turn up her nose.
Boris Johnson humph and haw some statement.
President Trump I will not mention again.
For the curlew lies grounded in flight
Let’s bring that poetry bird to the light.