My profile shows that I was born into feudality and austerity. That was what 1945 rural Herefordshire was like. It wasn’t all bad and I was a lucky one to be there with all the freedom, love and good food. I am sure that now I would rebel against some of the things that I witnessed as a child. Issues are complex and different views have to be assimilated in discussion and not argument. The lines below are a journey from heritage to myth. The soon coming day of slaughter and the Royal summer visit to Balmoral has prompted me to put this poem out there.
HERITAGE
there’s a myth
strolling around
in soft suede shoes
a methodical incessant rhythm
of ongoing sound
images too
images that resonate and resonate
turn the pages
we should
but we don’t
we can’t
it’s the drip feed found
with continuity
with familiarity
it’s the tradition that’s
etched into the mind
that subdues
that has subjugated
for centuries
so here we are
still paying our dues
still tugging the forelock
(or should it be fetlock!)
and opening doors
but not our door
as submit we have
continuously done
as the distance for you
between being able
to put food on the table
and wealth of a few
dictate to the many
the you
that really matter
John Edwards (C)
19th March 2021
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