#Refugeescrisis is a crisis of humanity. #Migrants and #Refugeeswelcome #Noborders
Call the Lawyers
UK Response to Refugee Crisis
Prime Minister,
This is dramatic.
Refugees can’t wait.
Mr Murdoch,
People die in lorries
and crossing the sea.
Her Majesty, Chancellor,
Let’s pull our weight
to end this misery and hell!
We understand, darling,
We will talk to our partners in Europe,
cause nothing can be done without them.
We will be tough with human trafficking,
and reclaim sovereignty on Calais.
We may even have to bomb ISIS,
…Tony Blair will get all the blame!
And for those who flee from war,
equipment, water and food
should be sent, in due course,
But we’ll do things properly:
We’ll connect with the nation,
capturing the imagination
of every decent mind and soul.
Let the public jump
off our glorious cliffs
with hand-made parachutes
and Mickey Mouse full kits.
Let them fly to the jungle,
to run a triathlon,
in the scorching heat,
wearing a fur coat
(a plastic one, I mean).
White nose Johnny
will sing a love song
in 5 different languages,
naked,
in the North Pole.
Oh,
and Chris Evans can auction
a red gorgeous Ferrari
on a BBC show.
Bidders will flock!
…A new foreign policy?
Forget it, you fool!
…Don’t tax the rich,
they could leave us soon.
…New approach to fair trade?
We are UK PLC, dude.
…More migrants on our soil?
We can send them to the moon!
…What do you mean by “solidarity”?
Charity will just do!
Originally published in www.poesiaindignada.com with the title of “Solidarity”. Modified on 29/08/15
Copyright © 2014-2015. Tony Martin-Woods
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved
Mar
Cuando el planeta se haga esponja
y tus aguas se hundan roncas,
ahogarás infiernos espurios,
portando vida sagrada
a las entrañas secas que antaño
las conciencias torturaran.
Anfibia memoria eterna,
brújula náufraga y firme,
revela luces alegres
triunfante justicia libre.
Tony Martin-Woods
Copyright © 2014. Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.)
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved.
La transvida
Las uvas
no mueren vendimiadas en verano,
transviven vencedoras en el vino,
como el poema en la canción,
como la madre en su niño.
Pero el soldado…
…el soldado muere por la patria,
como el dialecto por la lengua,
la noticia por el medio,
el crítico por la cátedra
o el poemario por el premio,
como el obrero por la empresa
o el viaje por el transporte,
como el juego por el deporte
o la vaca por la hamburguesa,
sacrificados por él y en él,
en la unidad de un espíritu falso,
sin honor, a toda hostia,
por los años de los años,
Amén
Tony Martin-Woods
Copyright © 2014. Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.)
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved.
Publicado en Los viajes de Diosa.
Foto: Cementerio en Adel, Leeds.
Take us
Listen to the poem in this song by The Blacksocks. Copyright © The Blacksocks 2015. http://www.theblacksocks.uk
Sour
Sins
Simmering
In minds that forgot their own code
Wild
Wind
Whistling
The truth no one wants to know
Brave
Boats
Breaking
The waves of the sea as they go
Take us to the lands with no shame
Take us to the lights that fear nowt
Take us to the fields where it’s love
What birds, and farmers, jointly grow
Talk to the mums with no children
Fight for the flowers with no say
Give to the miners of Mexborough
The justice those Tories took away
Smile to the homeless who is begging
For a night, some soup and the warmth
Of our notes as they burn in the fire
Of his notes, in the bank of England’s stove
Tony Martin-Woods
Copyright © 2014 (of the poem). Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.)
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved.
Picture by Roger Blackwell CC-BY See picture in Flickr
Free Market
Lively chit chat
At the infallible tempo
Of the clinking of glass.
A drizzle of jazz
On live canapés,
Waiters who model.
Our man
Keeps his business cards
Very close to his chest.
No rush, no push.
He knows what is right
He knows who to approach
He knows how to wait
He knows when to fall
Softly and warmly
On his pickled prey:
The greedy relation
Who awaits with a smirk
For the usual courting.
Education,
Health,
Weapons,
Research,
Transport,
Land,
It’s all up for grabs
It is all fair game,
It’s all the same.
It’s all just money,
At the end of the day.
(We don’t discriminate cash for its colour).
And
When the deal is ready,
The cloths
Of both parties
Drop
Discreetly
On the floor.
Only Private Eye
Knows the strength of their bids.
No chance
For clean
Spreadsheets,
No need
For financial
Latex,
No point
In trimming the hedges.
This is,
Brutally,
A family affair,
Lubricated with the spark
Of Conservative Champagne.
Sneaky voyeurs
Pay a good price
For the steam in the room
Where business thrives,
Where public assets
End up privatised,
Where bastards in arms
Trade our demise.
Broadcasted in Bloomberg
For the rest of the world.
Close-ups available
In the salmon press.
Tony Martin-Woods
Copyright © 2012-2015. Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.)
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved.
Al crecerme la vida
Al crecerme la vida,
alimentada de emociones,
se me derrama a borbotones mi pasado
encharcando la tierra humilde,
haciendo del polvo barro.
Al crecerme la vida,
hostigado por la avaricia del tiempo,
me embriago con tragos de memorias fermentadas
en cubas digitales,
destiladas en las redes.
Al crecerme la vida
nos crecen los muertos.
Al crecerme la vida
me crecen los sueños.
Tony Martin-Woods
Copyright © 2015. Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.)
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved
Arte & Ideas 
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