The Coalition in Britain - that unlovely beast - is selling off (privatising) The Royal Mail. This is a tragedy, and one that Eyewear the blog opposes whole-heartedly. The postmen and postwomen of the UK are a lifeline, and a wonderful friendly presence in an otherwise increasingly atomised world. My own postman calls me "bruvver" which is very good of him. His cheery smile is part of my day. I shudder to think what will replace these people. Meanwhile, Eyewear encourages readers to send in poems they have written, that somehow refer to Royal Mail.
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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