Mother of Soldier

Mother who sweeps the floor each morning alone
Who crotchets together her failing mind that keeps her
Sleepless each night, and Mother who actually cannot believe
Any more in a God who killed her son
Wrapped up in camouflage and black boots put on his feet
By the hands of his dead comrades;

Mother of soldier, who died here too,
In a war of opinion that sacrifices you,
Mother your son is dead, taken away fighting,
Killing and real bullets tearing a hole in the heart of Mother;

Mother who weeps with a cancerous moan
Distracted by war and the governing bodies,
Killed and tortured by the bloody hands of your owners,
Who treat you like a dog, Mother, like a dog
And now, less photogenic sunsets with his face,
Lifeless in a casket now burning in the crematorium of

Your motionless son; unable to love or to care,
Mother, your country has killed him,
Fearless frightened burning with fury,
While your peers decide what to wear;

Mother hates the army, hatred of difference and death,
Hatred of feeling of loss and hate,
Hatred of disgusting vulgar green and black,
Hatred of Jack and his loyalty,
Hatred of country and honour,
Hatred of mother and son in crowds and crowds of soldiers.

© Michael Holloway

Soldier Gareth Bellingham's grieving mother 'hates army'
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael Holloway was born in Liverpool in 1985. He studied English Literature and Creative Writing at UCLan and is currently studying a Masters in Writing at LJMU.

Close the libraries

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.