Tomorrow is the British General Election. It's still too close to call, but many polls are suggesting a small Tory majority. In my seat, Westminster North, the Labour candidate Karen Buck is up against the Tory candidate (a so-called Cameron Cutie) Joanne Cash; so, Buck vs. Cash. The Lib Dem is one Mark Blackburn. This seat is considered the 61th easiest for the Conservatives to swing their way (they need a little more than a 3% swing to take it from Buck). So, I, like many other voters, am faced with a choice - to vote for my preferred party, the Lib Dems, or vote tactically, to help keep Cash out. This is a tough call, because while I don't want there to be a Tory government, I also am loathe to support the morally-bankrupt and exhausted Labour party; New Labour was ugly to behold. However, I admire the way Brown has been (finally) expressing his truer convictions. If only he'd found his soul sooner.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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