Ron's rages are sincere and — according to his wife — healthily cathartic. But can these splenetic outbursts loosen the grip of capitalism at its most monstrous?
It’s winter here in East London
Jocelyn followed Isha
Storming our forest
Heaving at the trunks of the ancients.
I sat on a broken oak
Calculating the depth of loam
Of fallen leaves.
In East London it’s winter
Our lone station guard
Thawing under a bar heater
No mind to weed the flower pots.
Born again shoots in emerald green jackets
Daffodils queue to Liverpool Street
We all mind the gap.
East London winters ice up Hollow Ponds
They want suitcases at the Ibis
Home Office moves on Refugees
Displaced uprooted corkscrewed Home Less
Into tents hidden by genocide.
I’m short of breath
Chasing down a new moon.
by Rosie Jackson
ALAN MORRISON welcomes a new collection from the most imaginative and committed ecopoet of our time
ALAN MORRISON recommends a consummate, heart-warming collection about a working-class upbringing in the industrial north-east
The catastrophe unfolding in Gaza – where Palestinians are freezing to death in tents – is not a natural disaster but a calculated outcome of Israel’s ongoing blockade, aid restrictions and continued violence, argues CLAUDIA WEBBE


