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11/9/2016 0 Comments

Poetry III

Well, this one requires no introduction, does she.
Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!
Ding-Dong-Bell!
Spin the cord strong.
Twist it well.
Let the driven shuttle fly
In and out the mildewed weft.
Let the brittle threads and dry
Mocking taunt the Weavers deft.
Let them struggle as they will,
Bended back and aching sight,
Till the engine crash the mill,
What’s corrupt, will ne’er weave right.
Gain and loss at last shall meet,
Blighted, frayed, ill-woven cloth
Shall be the merchant’s winding-sheet,
Proudest ermine bed the moth.
O’er the rifle, sword and gun
(Bright and pure beyond their mark),
Yet shall rise the People’s sun,
Red, defiant, o’er the Dark.
Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!
Fast – or slow,
Sure is tolled the Tyrant’s Wrong,
Weft and Warp of Long Ago.
 
Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!
Ding-Dong-Bell!
Pile the walls strong,
Slavery’s hell.
Priest and scribe, and man-made God,
Diplomats and renegades,
Bishop’s mace, and tyrant-rod.
Blood-stained crowns, and war-field spades.
Merchants flinging up the Dice,
Gambling with the people’s Lack.
Prim hypocrisy all nice –
Hunger’s fear, and Prison’s Rack.
Charlatans who raving start
(Eye upon the cushioned throne)
From the people’s bleeding Heart.
Making ladders of Their Own.
Pignied idols raised on high,
Slaves look up, and they – look down,
Making blots upon the sky,
Minstrels, wire-pulled – for renown!
Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!
All their rods
Cannot break the True and Strong –
Hell shall breed its Undergods.

​--------------------------
 

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    I recently completed an academic research project (MPhil) about working-class women’s autobiographies. Now I’m writing my own...

    To cut a long story short:

    My dad and both my grandads were coal miners. I was born in Coalville. I belong on this website. 
    I returned to education as a mature student: got a couple of A-levels, went to university; got a BA, an MA, a PhD, and an MPhil. It was not as easy as that. It was not as quick as that. But I did.
    I have spent most of my adult-life studying something. Generally something to do with English literature: mainly something to do with working-class women. My MA is about Women and God – inspired by and emotively written through my experiences as a pupil at Catholic primary and secondary schools. My PhD and MPhil projects are about working-class women writers – inspired and emotively written through my experiences as a working-class woman in a materialistic and class-ridden society. When I was an undergraduate at university, there wasn’t a module about working-class writing. There just wasn't. I didn’t study any working-class texts. I just didn’t. I once gave a research paper about my PhD (ie: talking about my work) and I remember someone laughingly said, ‘Was there a recession in the 1980s? I must have missed that.’ That just about sums it up.
    I have had no working-class peers. I found them in my reading and writing. In my reading and writing I found myself.

    Welcome to my blog.
    It's basically about me.It’s called ‘My Travel Blog’ (because I’m time travelling through my memories of the past). See what I did there?


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