The Epistle of Jeremiah 1 A copy of an epistle, which Jeremiah sent unto them which were to be led captives into Babylon by the king of the Babylonians, to certify them, as it was commanded him of God. 2 Because of the sins which ye have committed before God, ye shall be…
The Epistle of Jeremiah — The Unexpected Cosmology
On this day in 1936 the instrument of the abdication of King Edward VIII was endorsed by the Westminster parliament in London.
Later on the same day, Edward spoke to the nation and the world via radio, his faltering voice revealing the deep sadness he felt, that could not fulfill his kingly duties and at the same time marry the woman that he loved, the American divorcee Wallis Simpson.
Never formally crowned King, his younger brother, George VI would be coronated the following year. Edward, known as ‘David’ to intimates, would spend the rest of his life in exile with his wife, taking the title ‘Duke of Windsor’. He died in 1972 in Paris.
Copyright Francis 2020
fugitive
for so long you said nothing,
you let it all well-up inside.
It swelled like some geyser beneath you,
or some vast unstoppable tide
but clearly the choice was yours;
to sit quietly and safe in silence,
or face the dangers of disclosure.
what use was there in pretence?
so you told those cowards straight,
to carry on with ignominious lies,
because you knew the whole truth –
heck, you saw it with your own eyes!
so now you ride trains in the night,
mingle quietly in busy queues;
the world doesn’t want to see you
nor cares of the state of your shoes
and then one day, maybe quite soon,
you’ll vanish with barely a trace;
at least you knew your rabid enemy
defined the justice of your case
© copyright David F. Barker 2012
Heat
When stepping off the ship, heat
hit him,
something heavy and palpable, his duty drawn
out into an exile
stuffing the bank accounts
of far-off millionaires, stuffing
him and the natives from Melbourne
to Manitoba.
Such a relief to be on the train,
officers hankering in rigid
silence for the cool heights of Shimla,
Home Counties in miniature once bleeding
the big world dry, where spinsters
of Little England began to
watch their gingham fade
He favoured his mother’s
side, whose pale skin and eyes were
more fondly remembered
than appreciated, now more than
a world away,
spattered freckles on his face
where the sweat ran
free in that searing carriage;
sights of displaced women
wrapping up in their shawls, children
standing and sitting, staring
and sleeping, heading on to homes they’d
never seen (or ever see), leaving him
to watch the scorched earth slide
by like some weary sentence,
his mind hanging on
to the boney cattle half
hidden in mud, in the channels
of sometime rivers
gaping for monsoon
poem © copyright df barker 2012
