the FUPress Blog

Who Are They ?

The green roll of gentle hills
Beneath a grey scudding sky
Where there are multiple levels of
Clouds within squalls and rain coming in
And here we play with horses
Jumping and trotting and held
Close pulsing to me
Alive and life so strong.

It seemed so long from that time
When we lived with fear of sickness
The sun broke through
And then was swallowed
As I asked the mother
How things were
And we acknowledged that there was a sign
Of change in her.

The horse breathed and the breath was sweet
The beast was muscle and flesh and clean
The rain rinsed off the grass
Wind breezed through the skies
It was a long far way
From the room
Of machines
Making men breathe.

Air on flesh
Damp on your face
Life so far from the numerated deaths
Where they worked
Night after night
Twelve hours after twelve
Holding hands
Against the viral overload.

This is the story 
I heard under the billowing clouds
Of what went down
One day
When a man was gasping unable to breath
Death coming
Who is here ?
What was he saying ?

They all tried to hear
And called for interpretation
Sounds unclear on breath
Hard fought
It could be important.
Gather round
Sssshhh is it a message?

What do you call the men and women
Who did these shifts
Whose comfort was the final humanity
What do you say In a breeze by the hill
What was he fighting to say ?
It was this – a “thank you”
To the Angels.





DAZZLED

i was by late winter low sun over holloway road

but chose chastised not to wear my fancy californian shades

on my first cold bike journey of the new year

into work to earn some daily bread.

in the bus lane, a bus stopped in front

over my responsible shoulder i looked for oncoming vehicles

and there was one there with enough threat for me to apply

brakes and new bike inexperienced the front pads jammed on tight

and i flipped undignified over handle bars to impact shoulder before

christmas filled middle aged bones hard onto hard London streets.

on my feet no breath just desparate gasps

and two spectator bikers there asking “Are you OK”

and i say “No I’ve really hurt myself here” and they go

and i bear my shoulder into work – and its really

not that bad, it could be worse, i’ve escaped dislocated

and bruised but essentially intact.

i had a premonition on a stairway and panicked

and my friend was beaten there on christmas eve

i had a premonition of the bus lane and saw

the sun today blasting snowbound city streets –

its all i know that i know nothing down

here below skies laid by a higher hand.