Tag: poem
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Trust Me, He Says, Again, Somehow
James Watt, the co-founder of Brewdog, has decided that now is the time to launch a new beer business. I have thoughts. Trust Me, He Says, Again, Somehow Trust is a funny thing.It takes years to build, seconds to lose, and apparently only one LinkedIn post to pretend you’ve earned back. Which brings us neatly…
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The Victory Lap of Not Knowing Anything
Sarah Wood is the leader of the Reform Party group on Kirklees Council. As such, she ran to lead the council, of which her party holds a plurality, but no majority. Here is Cllr. Wood, demonstrating her grasp of the council that she feels equipped to lead: The Victory Lap of Not Knowing Anything The…
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The Wind that Followed Me Home
A small wind followed me home today.Not a storm,not even a breeze;just a curious little draftwith leaves in its hairand the smell of faraway hillsclinging to its coat. It tugged at my sleevelike a child wanting attention,nudging me toward puddles,toward dandelions,toward things I’d forgottenwere worth noticing. When I boiled the kettle,it sat on the counterand…
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Unite the Kingdom (But Only the England Bit, Obviously)
The Unite the Kingdom rally in London was billed as some grand patriotic moment, a unifying force, a national stand, a big tent for the whole UK. And then you look at the crowd and half of them are wearing “Make England Great Again” hats. England.Not Britain.Not the UK.Just England; loudly, proudly, and with the…
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1337 Day Streak on NoRerolls
Today, I hit a daily posting streak over on NoRerolls. 1337 days! That tickled me, and I thought I’d just put something here to commemorate… 1337: Skill Issue 1337 days in a row; a number that screams “pro,”even though my actual strategyis justdon’t stop postingand hope no one noticesI have no build order. Skill issue?Absolutely.But…
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The Winding Song
A clockwork bird with rusted wings,Decided it would try to sing.Not for the gears, or the winding key,But just to know what it’s like to be. It didn’t chirp of gold or grain,But whistled softly of the rain,And found that even a heart of tin,Can hold a world of wonder in.
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Maybe May
By May, the world has stopped pretendingit’s still waking up.Everything is suddenly louder;the grass, the light,even the shadows seem more certainof where they belong. The days stretch themselves thin,testing how far they can reachbefore the sky snaps back.Blossom gathers in cornerslike someone sweeping beautyinto careless piles. And you feel it tug at you;that quiet insistenceto…
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Not On Our Street
They’re all for housing…in principle.They’ll clap for nurses,in theory.They’ll nod at the telly when someone says“we need more homes.”But not here.Not on our street.Not where the bins go. They’ll say:It’s not the flats, it’s the traffic.It’s not the families, it’s the parking.It’s not the poor, it’s the planning.It’s not the change, it’s the character. They’ll…
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Inheritance Without a Future
Some days it feels like the countryhas been left in the airing cupboard too long.It’s all starch and mothballs and ruleswritten in handwriting no one under forty can read. Every policy arrives pre‑creased,smelling faintly of “back in my day,”designed for people who bought houseswhen houses still cost the price of a decent sofa. We queue…