poetry – Jacqueline Courtenay

There Is Something to be Angry About

A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

‘There Is Something to be Angry About’ was written and inspired by the 2021 UK fuel supply crisis. The crisis was brought on by a fuel supply shortage for a few weeks and after news of an ongoing lack of HGV drivers, panic buying ensued. Forecourts throughout the UK were awash with drivers trying to buy and take away as much fuel as their tanks and sometimes buckets could take. The impact of this fuel crisis was far-reaching and created a sense of panic and anxiety that went beyond drivers. Jacqueline poured the emotions of the time into this poem to convey feelings of anxiety and helplessness over the situation which followed a long line of mishaps, unethical behaviours and scandals by a Tory government throughout the Covid-19 pandemic.

There Is Something to be Angry About

There’s something to be angry about
But when it comes to action, I have a lot of doubt.

I really don’t want to be angry
For instance, I listen to the news often quite blankly

Frequently I’m at a loss for words 
Mystified at how the masses have been led by the herds

By an incompetent few, who wield considerable power
Time after time their crimes wash off like a shower

Yet as Covid cases rise and even fuel runs dry
Only a small number of the public bat a single eye

There’s something to be frustrated with
And our collective pain is no monolith

We’re all in the pits albeit unequally affected
By the governments actions which have left many dejected

It’s unfortunate then to see no marching in the streets
Or even anxious, spirited meets

Discussing how we change the course 
Of incompetent leadership, I’m afraid we must enforce

Our citizens right
To vote with our feet and fight with all our might

And democratically remove
This government who strive to disprove

That their ill-judged steps
Have led to unnecessary deaths

This is a truth that is most unsavoury
The demands required for change will take bravery

Many do we have, because since March 2020 there has been damage
But when one takes a step 
Then their courage begets courage
And hopefully more will follow to also prep

Prep their banners and make their signs!

March to Whitehall or Downing Street 
Wherever as long as it’s the belly of the beast

To draw the lines
Because in this time, we must define 
That enough is indeed enough and no more will we decline

From telling the truth and voting with our feet
Now isn’t at all the time to retreat.

-End-

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A Virus We Could See

A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

A Virus We Could See is short poem about Covid-19 pandemic and in particular the disbelief that has come with it e.g., anti-vax, anti-masks and anti-isolation sentiment. This poem questions whether these ideas and attitudes around what is clearly a deadly virus have been able to manifest as a result of the virus being invisible and poses the idea of a virus we could see. An indisputable presence, one we could see from afar and move away from. Would things then be simpler? Would we have overcome it by now.

A Virus We Could See

If Covid-19 were a virus we could see
Its fumes would have a colour
Forming a cloud that gently floats above those affected
Perhaps then we’d know where we ought to and ought not to be

If Covid-19 were a virus we could see
With, as I’ve said, a colour to it
Maybe even a slight smell to it too
Perhaps we’d all wear our masks, on this we’d agree

If Covid-19 were virus we could see 
Possibly there’d be no naysayers
Or anti-vaccinators or non-mask wearers
Who thwart the efforts of scientists and researchers in laboratories

If Covid-19 were a virus we could see
Perhaps we’d rarely go out 
And do everything possible to avoid its clear and obvious path
Dare I say, by now, from its clutch we might even be free

But that is just wishful thinking
Because even if Covid-19 were a virus we could see
Would we believe all that we hear?
From the likes of Sky, CNN and the BBC?
Mankind, I mean the ways of our human nature aren’t simple to predict or even guarantee

Unfortunately
Covid-19 isn’t a virus we can see
And like all viruses before it
It is an invisible presence
Yet whose existence, for the benefit of our existence, we must believe.

Oh but how I wish Covid-19 were a virus we could see
As terrifying as the thought might be
I’d be glad to know where it is 
So I could avoid it like the plague it truly is

-End-

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We Don’t Know What to Say

A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

In this poem, it is just another day in the life of a Black east Londoner who looks out of her living window to observe the mundanity of daily life. And just like any day, she notices a group young, Balaclava-clad boys running out of the local shop before dashing down the street at speed. Later on in the day, sirens punctuate the noise of school children heading home. Police tap goes up and onlookers gather. Another child has killed another child. Another family begin to grieve, and another statistic is drawn up about numbers of teenagers stabbed to death in the capital. As a mother, her heart races for these boys and all those like them, girls included, caught up in knife crime, the drug trade and gang culture. In London, knife crime with injury continues to lay bare the inequalities in society, the little value put into the young lives of inner city children and whose experiences are given a severe lack of attention from multi-disciplinary agencies in treating knife crime as a public health crisis.

‘We don’t know what to say’ is an exasperated expression of helplessness, it is a cry out to street kids, from someone who did not succumb to the pressures of road life despite growing up on a council estate in a single-parent household. Working in corporate Britain now, this Black Londoner wishes she could reach out to these children and show them another, safer way. And now, as a mother, she simply wishes for the safety of all children but doesn’t know what to say.

We Don't Know What to Say

We watch you going about your day
Not at all knowing what to say

When you’re making questionable choices
And squandering your life’s chances
As we watch, we hold our breaths
Lest we say something and get threatened to death

For in these times of plenty o’knives
We don’t know what to say

Lest we get shanked and left in a ditch
Simply because we wanted to scratch this ambitious itch
Of helping street kids get out and take an inch, at first.
Then a step out of the dark into the light.

When we gaze out our windows and watch you move, 
thoughts buzzing like do we step in and ask you to reconsider?

A different way to get by? A different way to aim high?
A different avenue to ride?
Cos watching you lot do what you do
For real man, it leaves me shook.

You’re all like little brothers to me
And I really just wanna hug ya you see and say…

Come with me
Let me show you how to live comfortably
No not swimming in cash
But when I see feds I don’t need to make a dash

We all want the best but I want the best for you
Not seeing you dead on the news.

Especially the Black ones who, aren’t often given a lifeline
For many of us it’s straight through that dirty pipeline
School to streets, to make ends meet
But soon as you’re on that beat, no sooner will you have a rap sheet

When I see feds pulling you up
My heart skips a beat.
Worried for another mother
Who may lose her son.

This ain’t just a poem, these are my everyday thoughts
as I watch you on the haunt

The whole time not knowing what to say.

-End-

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No Daughter of Mine

A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

In this poem, Mother Africa speaks to one of her daughters, who despite having a place in the seat of British power, she uses her place to disregard and frustrate honest efforts to tackle racism. It is a poem borne out of a frustration Jacqueline felt in seeing an unrepresentative representation of Black Britishness in government, particularly from people who seemingly do their utmost to distance themselves from their Blackness. It is a poem that touches on racial denial without ever accusing the subject of such shamefulness. Instead, it takes on the voice of a parent who is scolding their child for failing to show solidarity. In ‘No Daughter of Mine’ Jacqueline unflinchingly calls out this dangerous behaviour which is capable of derailing hard won gains in the struggle for racial equity. There is a reprimanding tone throughout the poem, ironically it seeks more answers than it gives and unlike most reprimand’s this ends with a difficult question.

Play audio version of “No Daughter of Mine”
read by Jacqueline Courtenay

No Daughter of Mine

O my, my Daughter of Africa

Is it the English Parliament where I see you stand?
Is it within the Party of division where you’ve shown your hand?

Is the pay that good?
Is it mere money that should

See you deny what is right
And defend, so vehemently a blight?

A blight on your own people.

The stain of racism, after centuries, remains,
Yet you are not fighting to wash it away.
No, you are happy to work against siblings of yours dismantling the chains.

It saddens me to say, you are no Daughter of mine

Yes, born of me, of Africa you might be.
But a love for me, for Africa is not what I see.

I see scorn, I see shame, I see an urgent need from you to disengage,
with the work of activists, advocates and appellants for change.

If a love for Africa in you bore a flame
It would see you not denounce the theory of white privilege like its folly or a game.

It would tie you to lifelong efforts to redress, restore and gain retribution.

For all the things, all the people stolen from my shores.

I don’t have to remind you of how your siblings were taken.
Or of how by foreigners, my bones have been broken.
Alas this is just another episode in my story of misfortune that leaves me shaken.

And this isn’t the first time one of my children have been complicit in my demise.
But it hurts no less to constantly hear you defend the wrong from inside,
Inside those hallowed chambers.

From your pulpit you protect the inglorious who arrest innocent black children.
Just because you don’t fear the police, doesn’t mean they won’t kill them.

What is frustrating is where you side in these sensitive situations.
It is not rhetoric to say that enforcers of law should be fair and act without intimidation.

Exactly whose tensions do you fear you’ll inflame,
if you just say what is right and be part of the change?

-End-

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