I go to work,
think of all the people
trapped in that tower.
I watch the four year olds,
how little they know of this.
Children in West End schools
will have focused awareness,
Kensington assemblies, prayers.
I think of the man at the window,
the memory of twin towers,
the split screen bulletin
staples that connection.
I discover at lunch time
how much the redevelopment cost.
Six have died.
I think of the Fire-fighters
running to rescue –
engulfed in black smoke floors.
The baby thrown ten storeys to safety
into the arms of a stranger.
The blazing heat of this summer’s day.
Streets empty of cars as parents
walk their children from school,
thanking their blessings
beneath the thrum of a police helicopter.
The evacuated,
clutching what they could grab.
Screaming flames and sudden emptiness.
They were told to stay put,
every flat a fire resisting box.
Amongst the hum of emergency services,
silent prayers catch the breeze as news
of loved ones comes, or doesn’t.
I arrive home.
Children are still missing.
A local woman
opens her home to victims,
crews are expected to remain
for another 24 hours.
There’s nothing but love here.
..
I am not a silent poet 
Reblogged this on awritersfountain and commented:
I have not had much of a chance to submit any work since March, I spent April writing new NaPoWriMo poems and reading a LOT and May preparing for Lit Fest shows and laureate finals.
Then the world changed, less than 2 weeks after the terror attacks on London Bridge, came the Grenfell Tower fire. The true toll of this as far as loss of life is something we are not being provided, people are being warned not to talk about it and there is so much political/social/class warps involved that if it was fiction, you would be asked to make it more believable!
I spent the morning horrified at the news and came home with a few hours spare before performing at WLF. I penned this poem, that night I read this poem and from people’s reaction & feedback, knew it had to be shared.
Huge thanks to Reuben.
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