The flow of magic.

( possibly  without access to computer tomorrow, so an old  post of celebration)

Happy Samhein/ Calan Gaeaf


As Octobers, splendour surrenders,
coalesces and dissolves,
and the veil lifts again  on the earth,
poets try to communicate,
the sliced magic of things once witnessed,
to breathe a little  life out of thougths which grow within.

Near the rivers edge, time moves  in slow motion,
bubbling invocations leave their notation,
as words slip and slide, on thresholds rotation,
planting seeds from beneath skin,
this night of divination, allows us to keep searching,
with seas of ink and love, to replenish the earth with feeling.

Minds flying full of cobbled webs and threads,
follow the hubble bubble of exchange,
scribbled echoes and dreamscapes cast free,
to tunnel  our breaths with light and shade,
verses shaking loose undercurrents of imagination,
tides sweeping letters adrift on seas of navigation.

Our arrows shoot far into the sky,
pierce the night and its shadows,
from bright gatherings, nourishment, 
                       gets  released into air,
resonating with human care,
keeps this grinning manic world,
spinning with the afterglow of reason.

One Hour of Yiddish Communist Music

Following  yesterday's post, some more music......  normal service might resume soon. Though tell me what is normal? Boycott consensual reality.
Let freedom ring.

One Hour of IWW Music

Some musical respite - One hour of music from the Wobblies, the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW). The Union for all workers,  who used music more  pervasively than any other labor group.
Their songs and messages still resonating deeply with us today.  
Solidarity forever, remember an injury to one is an injury to all.

We shall return - Return is a human right

                                               We shall return - Return  is a human right

                                               Artist :- Alberto Smith Seravia

The right of return is a universal right, that is binding under international law, enjoyed by every people regardless of where they come from.
The idea of universal rights is an ancient one, but one of its first international expressions is found in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) which was proclaimed by the United Nations in 1949 "as a common achievement for all people and all nations."
One  of the core rights set out in the UDHR is the right of return, Article 13 (b) of the UDHR states :- "Everyone has the right to leave any country including his own, and to return to his country , Palestinian refugees are entitled to this binding universal right in the same way that all other refugees are. There is a broad consensus that the right of return, along with the right of self-determination, is the foundation of the 66 year old struggle of the Palestinian people.
We must remember how the majority of the Palestinian people up to 750,000 were forcibly displaced and uprooted from their homes and lands in 1948 never to be allowed to return to their homes or communities that they were displaced from.
Today there are more than 7 million Palestinian refugees scattered across the world. Their right of return must be recognised in order for the ongoing conflict to be restored. The end of the occupation would certainly help achieve this, .Anything   less would be a denial of justice.
However the government of Israel opposes these moves  therefore making it impossible for peace to exist, Until Israel recognises this right and corrects the  ongoing injustice that has and is still being perpetrated against the Palestinian people, hope lies in pieces.

Scattered thoughts in October

                                   
As the day drifts,
leaves scatter,
people too,
spreading little thoughts,
across the land.

The sky turns grey,
as wild geese fly home,
I remember that life is a journey,
with opportunities of return.

My heart can be heavy,
but dreams can awaken,
as I wear autumns clothes,
with  jumpers to warm,
offer some protection,
as nights grow colder.

Walking alone,
I have felt a lot of damage,
left me in the past, a little undone,
but there is magic in the air,
as I play with  words,
am now travelling forwards,
on the road to somewhere else,
searching for seasons new adventure.

Britain accused of doing bidding for Chinese regime.

Britain has been accused of doing the bidding of the Chinese regime after UK police raided  the family of a Tiananmen Square survivor for standing in the road holding up protest banner in Central London. 
Chinese democracy activist Shao Jiang, 47 was arrested in the street outside Londons Mansion House where a reception was being held for visiting Chinese premier Xi Jinpig.  Shaos computers and mobile phone were seized as well. Shao helped organise the 1980 student protest in Tiananmen , managed to escape China, after being jailed for months, and moved to the UK where he now writes about China for Amnesty International. A totally over the top response by London's police doing the same now as oppressive forces in China.
Two pro Tibetan activists were also arrested at the same protest.
Britain's fawning warm reception has been criticised by human rights experts for ignoring Chinas history of violating individuals citizens rights. My thoughts are currently with struggling British steel workers about to be tossed on the scrap heap due to the impact of cheap Chinese imports, and how Britain is ignoring  Chinas human rights abuses , as human rights activists currently left languising in Chinese prisons while my Government pursues lucrative deals at the expense of humanity. China's continuing infringements of civil liberties will damage the interests of the whole world including the UK. Business as usual then as Britain carries on sucking up to totalitarian regimes.

Steve Bell's cartoon in the Guardian newspaper earlier this week.

Child of the refuge

( after sadly catching the news the other night, so an amalgamation of reportage.)

                                  Aya is 8 years old,
                                  her home is in  detention,
                                  behind barbed wire and fences,
                                  in a no- man's land,  
                                  a landscape mired in abandonment.
     
                                  Aya is shivering with cold,
                                  her jacket was once white,
                                  now it is drenched with rain,    
                                  and covered in mud,
                                  her brother cries, he  wants the touch of his mother,
                                  her father is desperate as well,
                                  wants them both delivered to safety,
                                  this is not a place where dreams will flourish,
                                  there are no tents for shelter, just seas of misery,
                                  disturbed intersections, between what passes as 
                                                                              a frontier of freedom.     

                                  Aya exists  in this world of chaos,
                                  with her companions, the walking wounded,
                                  crumbling  through the night and day,
                                  as a news cameraman pans in and out,
                                  relays images back to safe European homes,
                                  to be easily digested,  in the comfort of sanctuary.

                                 Aya one fragment of many shattered journeys,
                                 the nagging pain of humanity's pulse,
                                 the drifting sadness  of frightened children, 
                                                                               terrified people,
                                 with broken hearts and broken homes,
                                 four thousand refugees stranded and abandoned,
                                 within yards of the European Union.
                                   
                                 Aya I am truly ashamed, 
                                 of the despair that follows your journey,
                                 wish I could point you in the direction of paradise,
                                 support your tiny soul, strengthen your arms,
                                 stop the  nagging persecution, detention, trauma,
                                 release  you from the tears of seperation, anxiety and grief,
                                 clasp your wishes,  send you protection, 
                                 allow you to  continue your journey,
                                 to a land of security and hope,
                                 anywhere from this grim wasteland,
                                 no place for an innocent child.  

https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2015/10/29/cild-of-the-refuge-by-dave-rendle/
                                   
                             
                                     

Aberfan - Lest we forget, this gross injustice

49 years ago a on Friday October 21, 1966 , approx 9.16 a.m shortly after school assembly many tons of collier rubbish (slag heaps) swept down the sides of a  Merthyr Mountain  above the town of Aberfan after several days of heavy rain, Liquified and pouring down  this black tidal wave would engulf everything in its path in this catastrophic tragedy.
Following  Monday's post about Tryweryn, another tragic memory from Wales's turbulent living history.
Aberfan was to many a result of a conflict of financial interests, which would see the death of 144 people, including a 116 innocent  children, many of whom were between the age of seven and ten along with, five of their teachers, in what is now known  today as one  of one of Wales worst mining disasters in it's history, not forgetting Senghennydd which I've written about previously when in 1913 over 400 were killed.
By the time the landslide stopped, it had demolished Pantglaas Junior School and 20 houses, severely damaging the Secondary School.

The sores and wounds of this disaster are now forever  stored in the memories  and feelings of the people of Wales because of the whole collective loss of a generation that was wiped out. So today again we  try not to forget  the children and adults who died, this human tragedy, that  many say could easily have been  prevented. The National Coal Board  (NCB) were repeatedly warned to move the slag heaps to a safer location, because they were also  close to natural underwater springs. Did the NCB have the decency to acknowledge their blame, to bow their head in shame, like hell no, but we were to  learn sadly far too late that the NCB was ostensibly a capitalist organisation more concerned with profit than lives.  A report by the government at the time said " Blame  for the disaster rests upon  the National Coal Board. The legal liabilities of the National Coal Board to pay compensation for the  personal injury ( fatal or otherwise) and  damage to property is incontestable and uncontested." The Government of the day was also extremely insensitive to the victims families, and people whould have to wait for years, for compensation.
So today we remember  the people of Aberfan, a community  that still profoundly affected by this disaster, one in three survivors still  suffering  from Post traumatic stress,  nearly 50 years after this tragic event took place.  People felt guilty that they were  left alive, they did not feel like survivors, cases of children not being allowed to play in the street, in case it upset other parents.
Let us  hope that lessons learnt from this incident can be learnt for tomorrow, and  remember that this bitter legacy still continues, what with continuing social and economic problems in the South Wales valleys still  being wrought  because of successive governments who have made lives a  continuing source of discomfort.  Combined with the failure of responsibility by the relevant authorities and the appalling behaviour of  some parties in the aftermath of the disaster.
Today, however there is very  little to remind visitors of  this tragic path, just an abstract memorial garden in the village and the childrens section in the graveyard.


Lest we forget, people before profit.

R.I.P the little angels that were lost forever.

shaker aamer - pj harvey

Repost of this song

PJ Harvey released this powerful song in 2013, to highlight the ongoing detention of last British resident held inside the US prison at Guantanamo Bay. Harvey recorded the track to help  maintain  pressure to help Shaker, whose family live in South London, to be released back to to Britain.
Saturday 24 October will be Shakers 5,000th day in Guantanamo.
First sent to the notorious camp in 2002, but subsequently cleared for release in 2007,  proving that the US authorities had no intention of bringing him  to trial for the last  7 years or so. This  Friday will  mark the end of the 30 day notice period to the US Congress that he is to be released and returned to his home , here in the UK.
On the following day Sunday 25th October, Shaker should be free and on his way home.
The US must keep their promise to Shaker and the world, a man who has endured all these years with much dignity and fortitude, 13 years imprisoned without any charge or trial, 13 years without ever getting to see his son. At present he is on hunger strike in protest at his  continual  detention and the appalling conditions in which he and his fellow detainees are held. In retaliation, he has been beaten, confined to a tiny cell and forced to spend long periods in solitary confinement. Many of his supporters are now also fasting for 24 hours in solidarity with him.
 Shaker must be freed and get the justice he deserves and the much needed treatment for his failing health,riddled with arthritis, combined with other medical problems, that no man should ever have to put up with.
There should  be no further delay to this injustice, time to bring Shaker home  immediately.
His eventual release will be a source of comfort and  joy to the many people  who have campaigned so hard for this moment to take place.

There will be a protest   outside Downing Street this coming Saturday  2-4 to highlight Shaker's case one more time.

Shaker Aamer

No water for three days
I cannot sleep, or stay awake.

Four months hunger strike.
Am I dead, or am I alive?

With metal tubes we are force fed.
I honestly wish I was dead.

Strapped  in the  restraining chair.
Shaker Aamer, your friend.

                                             In Camp 5, eleven years
                                             Never charged. Six years cleared.

They took away my one note pad,
and then refused to give it back.


I can't think straight, I write, then stop.
Your friend Shaker Aamer. Lost.

The guards just do what they're told,
the doctors just do what they're told.

Like an old car I'm rusting away.
Your friend, Shaker. Guantanamo Bay

                                    Don't forget -

                                                            
                                                             PJ Harvey 2013

Michael McClure (b.20/10/30) - ACTION PHILOSOPHY

Michael McClure, the fantastic poet playwright turns 83 today, so hats of. Best known for his participation in San Francisco famous Six Gallery Poetry reading where Allen Ginsberg first publicly read Howl and his friendship with the band  The Doors, he was to become a prominent figure in the Beat movement, writing poetry and plays. His 1965 production The Beard faced obscenity charges, but were subsequently dismissed.
His writing reflect his Bhuddist practice and his appreciation of the natural world using elements of typographical expression, with an exquisite sensibility. I like his work a lot, so thanks Michael, and happy birthday.

                                                             ACTION PHILOSOPHY

                               THAT GOVERNMENT IS BEST WHICH GOVERNS LEAST.
                                                 Let me be free of ligaments and tendencies
                                                             to change myself into a shape
                                                                 that's less than spirit.
                                                                LET ME BE A WOLF,
                                                                 a caterpillar, a salmon,
                                                                                 or
                                                                                an
                                                                          OTTER
                                                             sailing in the silver water
                                                                 beneath the rosy sky.
                                                               Were I a moth or condor
                                                                   you'd see me fly!
                                                    I love this meat of which I'm made!
                                                  I dive in it to find the simplest vital shape!

                                                           AH! HERE'S THE CHILD!!!
                                 
                                         WHAT'S LIBERTY WHEN ONE CLASS STARVES
                                                                       ANOTHER?