Kester Brewin

Category: Poems

  • God is Dead. Good.

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    by

    KB
    in ,

    Dead Today, there is no hope. There is no resurrection, no looking forward to a Sunday which does not yet exist in even the wildest imaginations. There is no prayer no solace no point. God has died. It’s over. Finished. Give up. Go home. Return to work. The best you can do is carry on…

  • Eating Soft Centres at the Menin Gate…

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    by

    KB
    in

    Went to Belgium Friday and Saturday for a tour of the World War 1 sites. It was fascinating… but troubling. Led by a retired solider with 30 years experience – much of it in pretty ‘hot’ active service – we toured battlefields and cemeteries around Belgium and France. We ended up at the Menin Gate…

  • Hipsters Don’t Dream Beyond East Croydon

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    by

    KB
    in ,

    I had a dream last night. In full vivid colours. Groups of hipsters were walking in woods, by rivers. I wondered where they were, and how they got there, and was shown that this was their Sunday retreat, a place in the countryside, within reach of London, where there was walking, and birdsong. I went…

  • I’m Nightmaring of a White Christmas

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    KB
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    Although the official records will say that bookmakers paid out on a ‘white Christmas’ in London in 1999 and 1996 (the technical definition being a snowflake falling on the London Weather Centre on that day) the last proper blanketing of snow on Christmas Day was apparently in 1895, which is right back in the picture-postcard…

  • It’s Becoming Easy to Forget Them…

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    by

    KB
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    An interesting aside on Radio 4 this morning: the social etiquette of maintaining a minute’s silence in the workplace today suggests that most people consider it frowned upon to talk during it, but many still send emails and check social networks. We are becoming less attentive. We’re finding it easy to forget. The web distracts…

  • If…

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    by

    KB
    in ,

    If… If you can keep your place when all around you Are losing theirs and blaming it on viruses, If you can be trusted to be taken to the beach And have sand and ice cream thrown at you And still be dusted down and lose nothing, If you can wait months for me to…