Blue Door Red Petals
With a bang, smoke, shock and fear,
North begins: “A crammed crowded carriage”
And cruel carnage
And Momma rocks her babies on. Rock- On…
Hot Day. Angels scream foul.
Blue Door. Red petals
Staining evermore.
And Momma Rocks her babies on. Rock- On
Silence. Awful mid- day night.
People angry. Scared.
But wait, someone gets in touch.
And Momma rocks her babies on, Rock- on.
Deep Shock. Angels swoop down.
People struggle up
Bleeding- but their dead stay still.
And Momma rocks her babies on. Rock- On
Pride. Tears. The blood stays put.
An unknown writer
Chronicles
And Momma rocks her babies on. Rock- On
Hush little babies. Quiet Please
London sleeps this night.
Fifty- two less souls to be
And Momma rocks her babies on. Rock- On
In tribute to Britain and others, and all they’ve suffered with the US. On one of the bombing aftermaths a general panning of the area glances off a blue door with red blood- spatters on it. A reality of what we are struggling against. Inspiration for my poem comes from Rachel North who writes to BBC 7 July, 2005. At this time of sharing to the world she was an unknown writer, even to herself.
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Moved me, big-time, yes. Thanks and Write on...... 
