Somewhere over the rainbow…

Malvern Green Space Sustainable Fashion Show talk 4/11/23

On Saturday Malvern Green Space held their second annual sustainable fashion show, involving Malvern Youth Club and many others in a joyous burst of creativity and second hand clothes.

i was tasked to give a short talk to get the serious part of the message across.. it went down very well I’m glad to say, despite the fact that it involved me singing very badly..it’s important to get a laugh!

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high 
There's a land that I heard of 
Once in a lullaby 

A land where no-one slaves away 
On starvation levels of daily pay 
To make cheap clothes for the UK 
To be worn once and then thrown away 

Fast fashion brands continually force discounts on suppliers, forcing them to cut costs to the bone. Public pressure on the garment industry in the UK in recent years has caused manufacturers, who were previously getting away with excessively low pay and poor conditions, to close down their factories and move production to low-wage countries. For the last year, UK garment workers have seen factories close, jobs cut and hours slashed. They get called to work one week, and then hear nothing for a month. At the same time, rent and prices are relentlessly going up. We need our government to ensure a just transition for workers in unsustainable industries.

At the same time , as revealed in a recent report on the garment industry in Pakistan, factories there have been exploiting workers by employing them in less formal ways to reduce risks and cut costs. Wage violations were also rife. Findings show factories paying a third of workers surveyed less than the minimum wage, which equivalent to £68 a month.

An Oxfam 2019 report also found that 0% of Bangladeshi garment workers and 1% of Vietnamese garment workers earned a living wage. The lack of a living wage amplifies issues like denial of maternity leave, inadequate sanitation, and sexual harassment in the workplace. Then there’s the real and present threat of death, from poorly maintained building which collapse.

Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue….

Are the skies blue over the vast areas of South America and West Africa where our supposedly recycled clothing is dumped? One recent visitor to Kenya reported: Walking down from the Gikomba market to the Nairobi River, I was shocked to find I was literally walking on textile waste which was piling up along the river banks, falling into the water and flowing downstream. In the evening some people burnt shoes and textiles on open fires to try to deal with the problem, and my eyes started burning from the polluted air. This smoke adversely affects people’s health living in the area.

What dreams do those people dare to dream? 
Are their dreams likely to come true? 

Someday I'll wish upon a star 
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me…

The fashion industry is responsible for 10% of annual global carbon emissions, more than all international flights and maritime shipping combined. At the current pace, the fashion industry’s greenhouse gas emissions will surge more than 50 % by 2030. That ‘killer’ outfit could be the cause of wildfires, floods and extreme weather events..

Our troubles do not melt like lemon drops 
While we’re seduced by all those shops 
And buying far too many tops 
This mad consumption has to stop 

Somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly 
They don’t fly so much over the ocean where they choke on plastic waste
Or wade streams and rivers poisoned with fabric dye 
They don’t fly at all in the lands devastated by excessive water consumption by the cotton industry 

And it’s not just fast fashion that is the problem. A recent report by Forbes looked at the ways in which luxury brands, by shifting the focus onto cheaper brands, use them as sustainability scapegoats while themselves stalling any attempts to legislate for improvements. There’s been lots of information about how items that people send for recycling actually get dumped, and while we may believe we are buying sustainable items we are not encouraged to consider whether we needed to buy that item at all.

We’re told that we deserve a treat 
Accessorize to make your dress look sweet 
Buying things will make your life complete 
Adverts are made to blind me 

So, look, I can’t fly over the rainbow 
But I can keep wearing last year’s winter coatI can decide I don’t need to buy a new summer wardrobe 
I can make a pledge for this fashion show

You can make a pledge to join the movement for real change. You might decide to commit to not buying new clothes for a year, or six months. You might already buy mostly second hand clothes but you could decide to join a campaign against the abuses of the fashion industry or pollution or climate change. You might decide to make more of an effort to mend things. Its really up to you.

But I would ask everyone here to think about how they can be part of the change we need.

And you can wish upon a star 
For a new world where these clouds are far 
Behind us 
We can dance down the catwalk of our lives 
With joy at all the Earth’s delights 
With happy bluebirds and blue skies  
If you will make a pledge tonight 
If you will help the bluebirds fly 
Beyond the rainbow 
Why, oh why can’t I?

photos: Dave Provis

Dragonfly

My lovely friend Satya has made a pledge to say a prayer (from all faiths and none) for the earth, in a public place, every day for a year. What a wonderful expression of commitment and love. I am deeply honoured that she asked me for a poem to put in her booklet of poems and prayers for the event. You can find out more about Satya’s project here: http://www.satyarobyn.com/earthprayer/?utm_source=substack&utm_med

Do have a look at the beautiful words Satya has chosen. In the meantime, here’s my contribution. As I mainly worship insects, it’s a prayer to a dragonfly.

Dragonfly, in your wings
The light reflecting all Earth's glory,
The spark of all beginning, the dance of life,
The network linking all existence, storied web.
You speak of the good air that lifts, that wraps our globe in breath
That carries song and scent and hum on every breeze.
The force of rushing stream, the still pool's depths,
The source extending veins through earth, and you, and me.
Your eyes tell of the multitude of every life that was,
The passage of millennia, ancestral gifts;
The magic of our dreams that match your skill in flight;
The joy of rage uprising with ferocity of life;
The power of grief, the lessons learned of pain;
The burden of the many years gone by and all that are to come;
The gift of rest: when stilled
That light may catch our wings
And reflect again
The glory and the dance.

The Big One

words words words not rebellion not this time we abandon our disruption for poetry
we write unite to survive without arrest no rest just stop those fossil fuels and choose your future it's a big one choose new words out of old ones green party piece/peace earth alliance friends of but please just stop! no rose bank shell street of lies at fifty five eyes of the world on Tufton truth deniers
put my poems on the pillar here propping up the establishment but I will hear established wisdom speak flags of poetry prose and people's pickets all my friends are dressed as death the walkers walk 
writers rebel

new day a wildflower cloak sewed/sowed my heart seeds into the city hours waiting to rewild and all the earth days will they ever come?
 butterfly friend can't find her father how can you find one man dressed as a bee among so many waiting to carry the earth the drums in front have caught us behind too many people to move a nation we keep waiting to move forward we abandon assembly too many disturbing thoughts that you won't listen to
60,000 dressed as penguins tigers spiders beetles dying in the streets a giant newt pink octopus a parliament of owls but I cannot hear the celebrities speak for the noise of the drums behind the drums drowning then we die and listen to the birdsong no-one else can hear
none of this is newsworthy

running out of time we find poetry in motion exquisite humanity blocking the streets who runs the disruption?
the marathon man says these are our streets whose streets?our streets and this is what democracy looks like filling the outside of parliament space with people assembly
the homeless man with polite desperation shares my smoke and tells me to take care these polluted streets are hard on our feet we can't run like they do but we keep marching and we remember Michael hard words made Addie cry and I remember them up in the sky last year and now Stephen gives me a poem from then when I was locked on to Helen's hand and impolite desperation
when unity was poetry through police legs and yes we did survive that time though the drums drowned out our words arrest a rest and here hear the drums again
the drums again and small pink paper boats will float your home/office I hear two strangers just barely afloat in the channel holding hands and we can do this if we run together

and here again assemble hear and again the words and drums the drums again so many friends and stop rose bank youths are singing on the banks of the river stop the banks investing and the slow marchers are not slow now they grow the chant and rising up we stop for blue light and light blue poetry flags waving oceans are rising up over the river and the runners are marching with us in the sunshine and the clouds hang low over a silent parliament and what next we say
what next?

Tufton Street

The Big One: 21st April

On Friday 21st April Writers Rebel held a protest outside 55 Tuftin Street, home to the ‘Global Warming Foundation’ the ‘thinktank’ of climate denial and delay. Some of us attached our poems to the pillars.. here is mine.

What gifts shall I bring to Tufton Street? 

I will bring you the aroma 

Of a million shellfish cooking where they lie 

In boiling rockpools;

The last cry of a lonely bird;

The silent columns of an empty wood; 

A meadow without bees;

An orchard with no crop of butterflies or fruit; 

The stink of cattle caged in concrete; 

An ocean of corrupted algae;

A whale rotting on an empty beach; 

The fading rattle of a child’s last breath;

A mother’s drying breast. 

I will bring you acres of blackened stumps 

And dust; 

The slosh of waves within an empty house;. 

A field of withered crops; 

A single feather drenched in oil; 

A dead earthworm in it’s poisoned soil; and 

The vomit of the cancered man who farmed it; 

A skeleton entwined with plastic. 

I will bring you a swollen bloated corpse 

Floating on the ebbing tide; 

Blackened bones and greasy ash 

From flesh. 

I’ll bring you the stench of frightened sweat; 

The smell of fear 

And shit 

Flowing through our flooded streets. 

I’ll bring you hate in too-young eyes; 

Despair in old ones. 

I will bring these gifts to Tufton Street 

And lay them at your feet. 

And then you dare – you dare – 

Tell me you’ve got this.

End of the line

So, you would have me picture
My sunny morning platform
This safe haven where Victorian architecture guards
The good people of Age Concern
And the second-hand bookshop that sells other lives
To small-town commuters
And the kind of tourists that visit here
For love of small delights:
Would you have me vision this in aftermath
Like those grey unfocused images of Dresden and Coventry
Seen in a school exhibition?
I can see it, if you wish
The shattered glass of ornamental lamps
Lies beneath shards of once-elegant canopy.
The rosy haze between the tracks
Not wildflowers but bloodstains
Where the old gentleman with his morning newspaper
Has fallen.
A cold wind howls about the decorative ironwork
While the gaggle of formerly excited schoolchildren
Cower behind the upturned café tables.
The quiet guy with a laptop, wearing sunglasses
Screams hate
And the pair of elegantly made-up business women
Cover their faces and sob despair.
This I am forced to see.
But: while I can see the shattered glass
The disintegration
The cold wind and screaming children
I cannot picture
The rubble at the end of the platform
Without some wildflowers
Growing through