Beyond Words, by Dave Urwin

She is grabbed off the innocent, sunlit street
one ordinary, workaday lunchtime

to be beaten, punched, taken
to a foreign land
imprisoned.

Not only punches and kickings
but unspeakable punishment
with cables, doors, things she cannot utter

by human beings wanting
human feelings. The probe and jab
of men’s weaponry, their mauling hands

as she stares at ceilings, walls.
They have no respect. They are weak.
They use other people for control. 

She has torturous nightmares.
The world is a locked door.

She cannot find the words
to express her eternal pain
and somewhere, beyond all words
come tears, ancient as rain.

,,

Links: www.stopthetraffik.org

BBC Radio 4 drama, I Am a Slave, week beginning 03.06.2019

BBC Radio 4, Woman’s Hour, 06.06.2019

A week in the life, by Dave Urwin

Monday was just a hard crack to the head.
Tuesday he knocked me down the stairs.
Wednesday I cooked the wrong dinner so
Thursday he locked me in the kitchen.
Friday he told me he loved me so fucked me.
Saturday he kicked me into the street.
Sunday I rapidly packed a carrier bag, was arrested.

 

November 25th  2018  was White Ribbon Day/International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women.

November 25th to December 10th  2018: 16 days of action against domestic violence (aimed at businesses, to support them to take action against domestic abuse and violence).

 

Dave Urwin publishes more of his poems on jadedmountain.wordpress.com.

Not the Dabke by Dave Urwin

(the Dabke is a dance of Middle-Eastern origin, common in Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq, northern Saudi Arabia etc. It is performed at joyful occasions such as weddings.)

(To be read aloud to a jaunty rhythm, possibly with your foot tapping in time.)

.. 

Take your partners for the killing dance,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

One step forward, two steps back,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.

 ..

The organisers watch from their houses on the hill,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

No one can stop it, they don’t have the will,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.

 ..

Rape a young woman in front of her child,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Then execute them both, as the crowd goes wild,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.

 ..

Change your partners, make new friends,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Make sure the supply of arms never ends,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.

 ..

The dance club’s bombed out, burned to the ground,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

No cause for concern, another can be found,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.

 ..

The gamblers paid their money, they all want a winner,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

They’ll arrange the next dance over peace talks dinner,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.

 ..

The dancers to their gods all pray

they’ll live to dance another day.

They hear their Holy Scriptures say

kill, kill, kill, kill.

  ..

Dave Urwin blogs some of his poetry on jadedmountain.wordpress.com

Ashamed to be White by Dave Urwin

It is shameful to be white.

It is shameful to be white

and not speak out.

It is shameful to be white

and not speak out against

racial abuse.

It is shameful to be white,

the colour of purity,

when so unclean.

It is shameful to be white,

the colour of innocence,

when so guilty.

It must be shameful to be white

in the home of the brave,

when some behave as cowards.

It must be shameful to be white

in the land of the free,

when so many are imprisoned

by their colour.

It is shameful to be white,

the colour of cold sterility

of those who have the power

and abuse it.

Black brother, black sister,

when the trigger is pulled,

I am ashamed to be white.

Centuries deep

and time after time

I am ashamed to be white.

Suicide bomber, how do I love thee? by Dave Urwin

Suicide bomber, who cannot be loved,

Kalashnikov brandishing terrorist,

how did it come to this unholy state?

What poison suckled in your mother’s milk,

passed on in your father’s sperm or spittle,

what lack of gently lilting lullaby

would bring you to swing your sword and behead

a man of charity or journalist?

What want of purpose or identity,

what dread infection breeding in your creed

could make you call the innocent guilty,

execute your brutal, wanton sentence

on the uncomprehending evening streets,

the crowded café, market, concert hall?

..

Not only hideous die-hard anger

of your contorted ideology

drip, drip, dripped into the harsh terrain

of the uncompromising heart and mind;

not only the churning, callous ferment

of alienation’s cancerous growth,

the resentment festering in your guts,

but some measure of each of these, then more.

How did it come to this unholy state

that some god or prophet could call ‘divine’

the grim wreaking of havoc and of pain,

the merciless snatching of cherished life?

The love you cannot know you sacrifice

and fool yourself with presumed Paradise.

..

Dave Urwin is a Mancunian poet living in rural west Wales. His first volume, ‘Towards Humanity’, was published in April 2015 by Pinewood Press. His poetry blog is on https://jadedmountain.wordpress.com

Who or what will stop the next war? by Dave Urwin

Who or what will stop the next war?

And the next?

And the next?

No amount of Christian prayer

or Muslim prayer

or Jewish prayer.

No Prime Minister

or President

laying a wreath

in the teeth

of the wind of hatred,

or uncompromising mechanism of belief.

No cathedral service of remembrance

for the victims of war

with all its pomp and circumstance,

for men and women ride into battle

with their Bibles hung around their necks.

No muezzin call to prayer

for the suicide bomber

invokes his or her god

as the school explodes,

as the child’s flesh burns.

No poem by Wilfred Owen;

though if anything could,

a poem should.

And who among you can guarantee

to have erased from your heart

all cruelty?

 Then, what of each nation’s sense of sovereignty?

Tell me,

who or what

will stop

the next war?

A question of loss by Dave Urwin

Are you an economic migrant or a

refugee?

We have the facility

here to make that distinction, you see,

between those of you who flee

from bombs and fear of torture

from shards of death

that slash your nightmare,

or simply from poverty.

If there are simply

no jobs

and your children simply

go hungry,

and if your country is simply

devastated from a previous war;

or if you suffer simply

from a lack of liberty

or aggressive and oppressive

government authority;

if you are looking simply

for a better life

because you can see the quality

of life we have in our country,

then you must go back.

We will try to deal with those

who make money

from your misery,

while we wait for the tides

to wash away

the blood,

the drowned corpses.