Have we come so far
Under a banner of nations
But to fall at this hurdle
Racing to justify our own
Ignominious feelings of
Selfish, ignorant pride?
Nationalism
Dieu et mon droit
La marche de l’extrème
Droit-gauche, droit-gauche
Chaque pas frappe le terre
Agaçant l’Europe
En train de convaincre
Les gens de leur peur
À fin de rappeler
À la foule la Terreur
Qu’il saurait ce soir
S’armer, dirigée
Persuader l’armée
De se reveiller
Et cracher par terre
La voie retrouver
Droit-gauche, droit-gauche
Vers le pouvoir du Pays
War Song for Woolwich
Fear of an idea
Almost intangible
Until it bursts
Fully formed from the head
And flowers to fists
Shouting streets full of strangers
That tumble, concluding
The unwritten, read
Reacting, unwitting
To pub propaganda
More salt in the wound
With each bucket of blood
Until rivalry forms
Lines appear, out of nowhere
Uncrossable gulf
No-man’s-land to divide
We’re in it to win
But we fall and lie broken
And understand nothing
While clutching our pride
Imagination
We look up to our leaders
Prefer sharp suits, trim figures
Bright smiles and bicycles,
Firm handshakes, clean livers
A healthy lifestyle, standard pet
Someone you’d chat to, down the pub
Whose name you never quite forget
Who likes their job and calls it love
A man who fits the common mould
With pleasant spouse who keeps their cool
And plays at happy families
While kids attend a public school
Appearances mean more and more
We back the face that seems sincere
And hang our hopes upon the door
Reality is what we fear
They light our lives through frosted glass
The safety of the telly screen
And comforted by careful mask
We misinterpret what we’ve seen
Behind the scenes, those cogs of State
Less photogenic toil and plot
To feed the nation from one plate
These images so soon forgot
Patriotism in far-off places
My sometime love for hearth and home
Lies not by fire, nor yet with those
Acquaintance of my passing day
For things material fade to grey
And colour-leeched, do turn to dust
They in my plains of mem’ry rust.
But lusty, strong, my heart does beat,
Not gazing ‘pon familiar street,
No haunt it loves, no buildings stir
My choosy organ, yet I fear,
That trav’ling through a countryside
All brown and barren, far and wide
Doth wake in me a tender gleam
For skies of grey and fields of green.
As seen from windows of a train,
My mind’s eye flashes ‘pon the rain
And ‘midst the warmth of climes more sunny
Tho’ yes – I also find it funny
Born not of humour, more of pain
I wish to be back home again.
Katherine Shirley 