Beneath the soles of trainers and boots,
Under the rubber tyres and padded paws,
The sand and gravel, stone and dust
Is pressed and beaten, levelled flat.
A walker's highway, a circuit for runners
Where the beeps of fitbits join the mix
Of blue tits and warblers and LBJs,
And a returning cuckoo announces Spring.
Beneath the path, lie coal dust and cinder,
Long rusted nails and chunks of wood,
Where the iron rails lay and engines steamed
East to West on the valley floor.
The rhythm of the wheels over the track
Approaching, deafening then receding from sight
Combine with skylarks, thrushes and rooks,
And a cuckoo returns to announce Spring.
Beneath the tracks, lie lost and forgotten,
Signs of invaders become home makers,
The Normans, Danes, Romans and Brits.
Broken pots, coins and fragments of bone
Litter the valley with its gentle slopes
While standing tall as sentinels on watch
Ancient monuments to the eternal Divine,
And in the heavens a skylark sings
Under the pots and fragments of bone
Lie the valley's wealth, its rich bedrock
of sand, gravel, ironstone and lime
Jurassic in time, sedimentary in nature,
Layer upon layer
Bivalves and tusks,
Ditritus and "toe nails"
Under the melt water
Before the first Spring.
Welcome, my darling Georgia Mae McCabe
To a world in lock down and national crisis.
You are precious and loved. Don’t be afraid.
You have Isla, as a best friend and big Sis.
Your lovely little face with peach soft skin,
Button round nose and eyes dark blue;
I wonder if you’ll have the Hacksley chin
And your hair be auburn, as mine was, too.
While grief and doubt and fear were felt
Your Mummy protected you in her womb.
You were born, kicking, and made our hearts melt
Dispelling this world’s perpetual gloom.
See, Springtime flowers in the March sunshine,
And new life brings hope and all will be fine.
Blue and green should never be seen, together In the bruised face, punched-swollen, In the crusty scab and oozing puss from a night-time brawl, In the purple lips and sticky phlegm of death.
But Nature's palette seen, together In the flash of the kingfisher skimming the river bank, In the darting mayfly and green hair-streak, In the meadow grass and everchanging sky, In the merging hues of the rainbow's arc, Is divine.
She was the honourable Margaret to the right, But to the left, as Margaret Thatcher Vilified and infamously renowned for Being the primary school milk snatcher. A humble grocer's daughter from Grantham A tory in thought, words and deeds. Rising through the ranks to become Prime Minister with a strict capitalist creed. For eleven years, this Iron Lady Gagged the unions and trampled the poor, Sold off the utilities, making shareholders rich, Announcing "Society is no more." The lady would not turn, so a bloody coup Turfed her out and now thirty years on Her legacy is still felt by the homeless needy Cos the council houses were sold and the profits gone.
Society will exist as long as someone cares About justice and peace, parity for all. She may be sainted by those on the right, But socialists cheer her downfall.
Happy birthday, the workers hero The one the capitalists fear, so Here's a letter from a socialist fan Who waves the flag whenever she can Because capitalism continues to fail The proletariat and inequality prevails.
You said it would not be simple To take control without a struggle. But you must turn in your grave When recession hits hard and they're Sold off the gas, water and oil. It's enough to make my red blood boil.
Zero hour contracts and the food bank. A legacy from the tories, who we thank For widening the gap 'tween rich and poor, Something you predicted 160 years before. Living labour. you said, fed the system That kept workers poor and in serfdom.
So listen up, you'll be pleased to hear Machines replace jobs, but do not fear For as the labourers are no longer able To spend, So these inventions make capitalism unstable.
So Karl, Marxism is your legacy And with it the death of democracy Cos there's one flaw in your philosophy Humans have an instinct for rivalry.
Take the game of Monopoly where the greedy Win power over the poor and needy. Thus even in a communist state Leaders emerge corrupt, and dictate.
Remember Russia under the Tsar's thumb Ripe for revolution and so become A place where workers took control But, the replacement is Lenin, a man with no soul.
Despite it all there is a desire To find a new way to live and acquire Fairness, equality and a voice To speak out for those who have no choice.
So happy birthday, and don't despair Cos there's plenty of folk who hope and care That the socialist principles you reveal Will one day soon, have popular appeal. I'm you're comrade, have no fear, I'll keep the red flag flying here!