After the Referendum

It was never a romance.
There was no
Loved up
Goose bumpy
Doe-eyed dance
That no-one else understood.
But you always seemed right for me,
Like no other country could.

Now, though, you've changed.
And your obsession with demons out there has awoken
Within you a monster.
And I am
Heartbroken.











© 2016 Lucy Peacock

Banner Poem

This poem was written in celebration of the banner-making activities of the Derbyshire Dales Labour Party Women's Forum. Our first banner is below: it may be only a banner, and a somewhat rustic one at that, but it was a true collaborative effort, and the start of something bigger.

We are the needle warriors
We weep, and therefore we sew.
We are the quiet revolutionaries,
Pouring our fury into the very
Stiches of the banners that we create,
And when we can, we’ll demonstrate,
And with our banners, we will be the voice
Of the powerless, the unprotected, and those without choice.
We are the needle warriors,
We weep, and therefore we sew.

It must be nice

It must be nice to know
That you’re better
And cleverer
And more deserving
Than "them"
And how easy it is
For you to condemn
Those people, who are all the same,
Because you know, of course,
That they’re to blame
For whatever it is that you believe is wrong.
But, though you feel that you belong
To the righteous few,
Remember, that to somebody somewhere,
You’re one of "them" too.




©2016 Lucy Peacock

Poetry by Committee

At the meeting, it was agreed
That, though there is no need,
The lines in this poem should rhyme.
Or at least they should scan,
If they can,
And if an extra-long line isn't needed for some reason or other.
And that it should be
A tight ball of words
To be unravelled at leisure,
Though loose enough
To give immediate pleasure.
But not so loose that the words begin
To
  Fall
    Out.
But the most important thing
Is that it should rhyme.







©2016 Lucy Peacock

For My Children

May you find music and poetry
Wherever you live.
May you love and be loved,
And take less than you give.

May you live your stories,
Not just watch them unfold,
And may they be stories
That are worth being told.

May you feel snow on your faces,
And rain in your hair.
And if your shoes get muddy,
May you not care.

May you always remember
The importance of doubt,
And, when you sit by a window,
To always look out.

May your dreams come ever closer,
Without quite coming true,
And may you embarrass your children
As much as I do.




© 2015 Lucy Peacock

Where have you been all my life?

Just another one in a long line
Of final cigarettes.
And like every other time,
They’re placing their bets,
That you won’t be the last.

And yes, before you,
There were many, many more.
But you are the one, my only, my true.
This time, with you, I’m sure.

Only you can fulfil my desire,
And it’s only you that can light my fire.
And I will light yours.

You will complete me, where all those others have failed.
And I will leave you spent, used up.
Inhaled.




©2015 Lucy Peacock

All Grown Up

As a grown-up
(Or as grown up as I’ll ever be)
I should know that there are books
That I might never read.
And that 6 pints is too many
And 2 not enough
And that I already have
A lot of stuff.
And that a shouted heckle
Isn’t funny or daring
And that no-one (or hardly anyone)
Is impressed by swearing.
And as a grown-up
I should realise
That eating that many Jaffa Cakes
Really isn’t wise.
I should know when a rule
Is OK to break,
And I should be able to talk to you
Without starting to shake.
And I should know that the feeling I get when I see you -
That heart-thumping dizziness
That I can’t quite subdue -
Is merely the product of some hormone or other
Or a temporary insanity
From which I’ll recover.

I should know all these things
And one day,
I will.

© 2015 Lucy Peacock