Bombs in Westminster, May 1993
Hushed, through the abbey's vaults the anthems whisper
Stirring with their old familiar notes
This house of faith and home of England's dead
Kings and poets, lords and warriors unknown
Among the stalls, the common seats, the royal stone
A complex mass, the spirit of the people
Trusting to the care of gods somewhere
And to the ancient order of their priests
To hold alive and well the nation's soul.
Raucous, under brooding skies the traffic roars
Sweeping past the old familiar sights
Hunched Churchill gazing on the iron queen
Defenders of their people, life and realm
Whose bronzed and sightless eyes mask deeper vision
Than fashion would prescribe for us or them
If come to life, would flash, and melt and weep
No strength of will today, no mind of clear decision
No hands of courage guide their great ship's helm.
Softly, from the open square the life is cleared
Steering from the old familiar grounds
The precinct once of kings and now of commons
The trade, the talk and traffic stirred
These past few hours, gently dies.
Tranquility descends, muses call, stillness lies
Birdsong, first for a hundred years, is heard.
Move on! You cannot sit here crafting words!
No Pax Britannia this, no balm, no peace.
A bag left idly on a bus gives right to fuss
Makes these streets open to command
And we demand them silent, void
Of life or independent thought.
A flimsy yellow cello line contains the world
Restrains our bodies, spirits, minds
'Til no one dares to cross
Or recognize the irony and loss
Of wars recalled in granite that were fought
Their dead, our dead, all dead are dead for nought.
Ordered on, we move beyond the lawn
'til only darkest passions stir
where Wordsworth hailed the dawn.
But all that mighty beating heart is silent,
Screaming in my soul this certain wrong:
Fear has frozen to a stone
The great resolve of Britain.
Trusting neither leaders or the future
Remembering neither times or people dead
Their present seen remote through television
And never doubt the sense of orders given
The people go wherever they are led.
The square is sealed,
Old Ben peals out the hour.
The order is repealed,
The heart regains its power.
The threat is past, the war––clearly lost.
Life slips back to normal, why bother with the cost.
The strident news will tell us only part:
War has reached the heart of state
Our heart has reached a state of war
The hope for nothing more than to be great
Gave birth to fear, and fear in turn
As always, nurtured hate.
Hushed, in the abbey's vaults the spirits gather
Stirring from their old familiar stones.