Moments of the Day


a poem by Katie Morrison

© Copyright 2011 Katie Morrison – All Rights Reserved

People crowd around him; He’s fallen where he lies,
Sirens are all wailin’, As the child slowly dies,
We all heard the story, A million times before,
War games for seekin’ glory, He ain’t playin’ any more,
Sound the alarm, World war 3, Kids tool up- artillery,
No Red Cross ting- Ad campaign, No conscription kids to beat an maim,
This ain’t no African dictator, Taking innocence from its creator,
It’s England, Ireland Scotland Wales the gangland violence war prevails.

While all the men in suits, They don’t know what to do,
Policemen hats and boots and they haven’t got a clue,
Let’s re-wind a little backward,
The beginning of the tail, The boy lying on the pavement before
His heart did fail.

We don’t know what its like, Walk in this young mans shoes,
Life heavy on his shoulders, Forcing him to choose,
His bredrins they are callin’, Say “come an make some doe
And Ma say “continue schooling
An’ young man doesn’t know,
The world tells him that he’s no good, Coz he lives in block an he bus’ one hood.

Our boy he had his head straight, An he used to hold respect,
Frustration, tryna please, An live how they expect.
But his struggle they all patronise, Say “he’s too young to rationalise
He’s got no dad to lead the way, An mother’s out all night all day,
So he chose to fight to make them pay,
Since they wrote out boy off any way.

He’s standing on the corner; He’s friendly with the cats,
He’s sellin’ heroin to his brederins an that’s
Really how he likes it, Coz now he’s number one,
He makes more money than them teachers, who told him he was dumb,

So once or twice they bring him in, The men in suits sat judging him,
But excuse me, Mr Justice, but I’m somewhat confused,
Of what it is this young mans crime is, of which he stands accused.
You say that he’s a menace to this rich society,
You say that he will never learn if you let him walk free,
But sir you see I beg to differ,
The sentence your about to give there, should be served right by the state,
Who ignored him ‘til it was too late,
Who labelled him an’ pigeon- holed, ‘til he believed all he was told,
But it ain’t true  It ain’t true Media’s words a storm does brew,
So what is it young man must do?

Confusion an’ rage He’s trapped in his age
So, you wash your hands of him , coz he commit a sin,
Make sure you wash off all the blood your hands are covered in.

A spell in Young Offenders, becomes a “man” and learns his “trade”,
Dealing on the outside with those “connections” that he made.
Frontin’ out a gangsta role, before he knows he’s lost control,
Out boy he was the silent type, never one for violent hype,
But the streets they stole him early and sent him out for war,
He never stopped to wonder just what he was fighting for,

The junkie that had killed him, was just a boy himself,
Tryna earn respect an steal a little of his wealth,
He was written off almost the same, the whole world had forgot his name,
Unlike our boy, he turned to smack, that thing that sent him right off track,
Just as angry, just as sad,  His whole life had bin labelled bad.

He knew out boy from the corner, he knew he carried gear,
An junkie had no money, the sickness filled him with the fear,
He went into his kitchen a picked him out a knife,
It was never intention of taking our boys life,
These two kids now, paths will cross, and result in such a tragic loss,
See the metal in the dark, held by hand with needle mark,
Hear the sound of muffled cries, as the life runs out his eyes.

The men in suits all shake their head “ we knew that he would end up dead
It made the headlines, made the news, another kid was born to loose,
So sleep easy Mr Justice, in your mansion in West One,
Coz you say these two had choices in all that they gone done,
I guess I musta missed ‘em, I guess I didn’t hear,
See things, Mr Justice, aren’t all as they appear.
Point the finger, who’s the blamed? Our boy who just could not be tamed,
When all he sees is crime all trialled, An you call him a problem child?
Laws and rules so black and white, The lost causes and their freedom plight,

While kids are fallin’ down like files, the government talk spin and lies,
If no one care, and no one try, Child of out time will fall an die.
England Ireland Scotland Wales, again the gangland law prevails.
See the system isn’t workin’, an you blame it on the kids,
The truth is that they’re hurtin’ an you say they flip their lids
You bread a generation of disaffected youth
And now you cannot bear to listen to the disaffected’s truth,
Nurture, nature, Love ya, hate ya,

Was it something in the water that made these ASBO teens?
Or something in the 80’s, changing national schemes?
Stop blamin’ films and playstaition,
Blame governments and education,
Coz I for one will not bear the cross,
Of my generations tragic loss,

My names the youth of today
And its time you gave the youth their say.


A World in Waiting/A World Beyond

A poem created about the event by The Writing Edge

© Copyright 2011 The Writing Edge- All Rights Reserved

The world is waiting
for courageous change,
the world beyond
for a fairer future?

Lost souls
in search of balloons
number 27?
There it is
number 24?
Make a new group
find some chairs
Chaos settles to conviviality
creative hum

This is about the children
this is about the women
this is about the men
this is about us.


Heads turn – the world waits
Synapsis fire – the world turns
Rivers flow – coffee is sipped
Ideas form, zinging and zipping in our bodies
Naive and fragile at first
Then together gaining confidence.
By recognising differences, we affirm our similarities. 


I believe that only 40% of the population smile 50 times a day.
If you don’t turn on your smile and lead the way
your smile can brighten anyone’s day’s

If I can’t write a letter to the future

How can I make it real?
If I can’t eat paper
How can I make it an instrument to build a better world?
If I don’t talk to people enough
How can I voice the right to participate?
If I can’t encourage local activism and awareness
How can I defend public services?
If we have to hide our hearts and cannot bare them
How can we realise this dream?
If I can’t redefine prosperity so it is not just valued in monetary terms
How can I challenge empty words and policies?
If we can place Abunto at the heart of all decision making
How can we use the power of our imaginations?
If I can’t improve the relationship between the police and younger people
How can I practise peace?
If I can’t make the invisible and excluded visible
How can I write a letter to the future

This is about the children
this is about the women
this is about the men
this is about us.

You can give me the facts on government debt,
You can give me the targets on childhood poverty,
But I can give nothing in return.
But tell me a story and I’ll give you my heart,
Read me a poem and I’ll dare to dream of making it real.


This is about the children
this is about the women
this is about the men
this is about us.

I am frightened
when I walk the streets
frightened when I hear the sounds
of footsteps behind me
of the unknown pursuer,
frightened as I pass people in doorways or tunnels
because I do not trust the unknown.
I drive past these areas in my bubble of metal and glass
they are dangerous, I go as fast as I can
no need to worry about jumping red lights in this district
best to keep my eyes on the road ahead,
don’t look left or right, no alliance here,
if you catch their eyes, you will be caught
dragged, snared, sucked into that world,
that world.
A world where the voices are voiceless
sounds are soundless
and hearts appear lifeless,
the world is waiting to see what I might do,
what we might do,
but I am frightened
and yet if I look closely within,
to the fear inside myself,
that which frightens us is most beautiful.

It only takes one domino to fall
to begin the cascade, tumbling one by one
each, down the line.
If I look at the global picture
it is too big
if I look to the many to act
I can stay quiet
if I look to the few to help
I feel uncomfortably close, yet
if I look for me to change
there is no excuse.

Like a poem with no words
only inarticulate grants
we have to trust that this will make sense,
so we step out onto the air
and hope it supports us,
there is no other way
than to trust each other
that we will do what we say,
to speak
to hear
to see
all of those around us.

Let the music begin,
the waiting is over,
let us go to the world beyond.

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