A Poem for Westminster

 I tend to write poems when I'm moved in some way.Working in Westminster this week was both fascinating and hugely enjoyable. But the shadow of that building has been a powerful one this week when budgets have been spun and webs to trap the powerless have become denser. So the emotion this poem triggered was anger. But I also know that there are those within those uncompromising walls who are fighting for change, for a fairer more equal society. This blog is also to honour and thank them.

The Palace of Westminster

Smells evocative of my

Nana's house,

dark corners and

worn carpets.

wood lined stairs

lead to galleries

of obtuse protocol.

green benches in tired lines

familiar and yet not

front bench smart phones

are tapped,
as argument bounce off

opposed, unheard.

Opulence and decay

symbols of this house

juxtaposed to confuse

the sense of what is real.

A museum to mourn a passing

of a time when we cared

and for what we might become.

Shamed, I’m still caressed by its beauty,

seduced by its reach into

a past that was once mine.

Now it's ancient rituals

mock a future

where power is shared

justice secure

Where all voices count

and our land is ours.

Confident in a future

that's ours to shape.

Not a parliament that jeers and mocks

but parliament that listens

reflecting ourselves through

our own glass

Reflections that invite

us to draw our own

fresh images

with shaky forefingers,

excited, creating

a different vision