Watching George Floyd being choked to death was one of the most distressing things I have ever seen; I was shocked and appalled, and determined to help bring change in by now the only way I knew how, writing verse. I remembered the time I had been racially abused by someone as I went to visit my wife in the London hospital to which she had been transferred, and that formed the first part of the piece.
But it wasn't enough and so I dived down, one layer to start with in order to equate this verbal abuse with other that I, and all of us, have suffered in our lives then deeper to realise with shame that I myself had of course been culpable of saying abusive things to other people. Both western and eastern religions teach us to first look to our own thoughts, words and deeds before we judge and condemn others; I had touched on this in Where's His Mask? and here in White Trash I tried to develop it further through lengthier contemplation.
We have come now to the end of my output, a journey of just over two decades, and I would argue (though of course you may disagree) that my overriding theme has been that of the poet thinking through his dilemma. That, for me of course, has been mental illness in the form of bipolar disorder whose condition has bred within me the desire and ability to study, examine, and try to resolve difference, both inwardly in my own soul and from there outwardly to that of the wider world.
I don't think I will ever be truly free from the shackles of this horrid illness but I hope in these poems I have been able to fight it with some effect by putting pen to paper. Thank you so much for joining and bearing with me through often tumultuous and sometimes turgid verse, and don't forget that my short story collection William Ottoway's Utopia and other stories is available for purchase over at:
https://www.williamottowaysutopia.com
For now, I leave you with White Trash...
Fearing for my soul,
From Underground to hospital
A short ten-minute stroll.
I felt the scorching brand,
Abuse’s mark upon my flesh,
Its hot, igniting hand.
Equality for all
Torched and cindered by two words,
So ignorant their call.
‘That’s what I like to see’,
He pressed home his advantage
To create an enemy.
I never would again,
I never sought hostility
From him or other men.
Instead of just my skin,
If only he had stopped to talk
Our friendship might begin.
Quite from underneath my feet,
Happy with his victory
And my manner of defeat.
This new, unwanted weight,
A thousand worries in my mind
Compounded by his hate.
It had done twenty years,
That’s why I crept the road in panic
Wracked by dreadful fears.
Its grounds of safety swelled
Within my breast, though larger cares
Continued to be held.
Far, far away from home,
Our unborn child premature
Too keen this world to roam.
What on earth life had in store
For any of us, good or ill,
It shook me to the core.
A stranger’s scalding touch,
His kindness would have soothed,
I cannot stress this point too much.
Of other words I’d heard,
Malicious comments made
Against me, each of them interred.
They came from just one source,
That part malevolent and dumb
Which deviates from course:
The course of polite regard,
The course of empathetic thought,
The course of lowered guard.
And then I swallowed quite,
For sudden did I realise
My own part in this fight.
Words with cruel intent?
Dissatisfaction in my breast
Expressed without relent.
Who sent me on my way,
Confused and hurt and lost
My fragile mind in disarray?
And worse, not even think
How impact of my careless words
Might cause their souls to shrink?
And city back to leafy town,
In safety of my car
I thought upon all this with frown.
I could not comprehend
Why we hurt each other,
Spit out words which do offend.
I often think upon
The way in which I felt
When I walked back and he was gone.
Regret that he had left
Remorse we had not chance to chat
Repose, although bereft.
What it feels like each day
To bear the brunt of prejudice,
Discrimination, feel dismay
Only offer me slapped hand.
Feeling once the sting though
I now start to understand.
