A Poem for Today

We Must

Unrest in the world prevails and desperate soliloquies
On power, On people, on poverty, on a “higher cause”
Permeate our media portholes.
Our solvency is questionable as our caffeine addiction costs more.

Meanwhile we’re told, or were taught, to dream.
A frivolous and cringing word that has lost its roots of eccentric revelry
And become the buzz word of reality TV.
And rash, young Jos and Joannas are indignant
When notoriety and wealth doesn’t come-a-calling.

Choice and Education, Education, Education –
We were promised would better us
Yet parents and mentors who had neither
Still house us in their life’s earnings.

Some work for free in prestigious places
Or crush their hopes and buckle down.
Politicans court us.
They forget they put WWI propaganda campaigns
On the national curriculum.

Look back, look forward.
Work for your country but look after yourself.
The fashion industry is reviled.
“Women can be any shape.”
Except an obesity statistic.

The list of rules grows longer.
Individual responsibility grows less.
Just call the NHS.

Cavemen still dwell inside us all.
We expect so much and yet give little.
A generation doomed, or a turning point.
The old freeze, the young complain about fees.

Opinion changes every day and confusion is prevalent.
Clichés have tarnished the terms of life.
A precious gift, seize the day, live it to the full.
Yet we must.



By Jessica Meins

Monday Monday... my first time.

Hello everybody. I guess I should start with that. It is my first post after all. Except I can't really be bothered to do that whole intro thing which makes me cringe so much when I read it in 'chic-lit'. You know the type of thing I mean. Emma was golden-haired and blue eyed and had legs much longer than her body. blah blah. Have you noticed that even when the author is clearly flag marking the heroine as 'normal', she will still have beautiful eyes and soft hair or something. I am a bit of a hypocrite on this actually, because I also hate it when a writer describes their heroine and says ' she was large-bottomed and her hair was wiry'. I think, oh dear, she's not going to have wonderful adventures and meet gorgeous men is she with her big bottom and Susan Boyle hair. I generally think it is better when the author lets you form your own opinions of what the heroine looks like, disclosing only small pieces of information about her bag or shoes or an antique ring she wears; mysterious and requires imagination.

So, basically, what I will give away about myself is that I can be overly sarcastic and dry and often go off on tangents. I am also dyslexic, so the terrible punctuation and grammar use is generally down to this. Indeed my sentences often go on for far too long, so I apologise for this in advance. Finally, like any wannabe writer, I am cringingly aware of my own and others creativity and love to lose myself in thoughts of immortality through literature. Don't worry, I'll try not to do this on the page as it is a little boring for others and to be honest I'm not yet Mr Shakespeare. Though I've often thought I'd like to call my daughter Shakespeare. I don't have one now you realise, this is my future daughter I'm thinking off. Yes, completely embarassing, probably.

Today has been less than satisfactory in my quest for gainful employment. I am feeling rather ill which I think is my hangover from my hangover yesterday. It's two days these days, truly. I have recently received an e-mail from a very successfull family member who I wrote a rather wordy, pleading e-mail to last week about help and contacts. Now I am too scared to read his reply. It is sitting in my inbox, waiting. This is a common issue with me, something to do with confidence I think. It was more understandable when I wouldn't open my A Level results for a day and my degree results for a week until I got completely drunk at my next-door neighbours garden party, snogged one of the guests and stumbled home, ripped open the envelope and tried to read the blurry pages. This time, however, seems stupid. It gives me nervous palpations just thinking about it. I think it is insecurity, but of what I'm not sure. I really should just go and click on the e-mail now, while I'm writing this.

I did it and it was a nice e-mail and he says I write very well. That's nice. It's true about facing your fears, however irrational they may be.