Looking again at some of my poems I am sorry to have burdened you with such raw material. As you know the queen has been reigning for seventy years which is quite a remarkable feat and I felt a poem bubbling up inside for this special time. Here is my contribution and it is very personal. However, I am open to comments and thoughts about it, even about its style and if I should cut certain lines or re-arrange the verses.


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Crossing his palm with silver
He placed his hand on my
Little bap.  My cursed pa,
With a penchant for 
Dressing in ma's clothes.
In my winning pink silk crown
Adorned with ermine and jewels,
Turquoise, rubies and pearls,
I served up ice-cream
As mum stoked the barbeque 
And dad pulled the pints,
Sister Candy was the queen.
And now my son has been hot-crossed with silver,
Toch'd by persons unknown in 'the home'.
I feel like Non's silver tea pot,
Pretty but useless.
And my silvered son's body has been intricately engraved
With (XXX). 
The dad had a hole burning in his pocket from the hot gloves.
The coins came back to cross us in gold.
And guilded nurse babe fled to New Guinea
To avoid excessive scrutiny in '99,
When champagne uncle's corks were popping everywhere.
But my guilt burnt a hole so deep
It was like hell as Freddie Mercury
Looked down on the roof tops from above
As my sweet child and I had a party
In the blue room.
That guilt that I can't quite forget or forgive
Was it the caretaker?
The circle was tight and
The watcher over the wall snatched my son.
Through the gap up to the caravan,
And I could tell but no-one believed.
We fled never to return to Devon and Cornwall.
And Non's platinum ring is unworn, unused, mislaid.
The family has been seen off by
A first platinum crown.
Son officially, rest unofficially.
Now I lift my pen to scribble my truth,
And tap and type 'til Kingdom come,
Leaving a blank inch - return, return;
For the 'X marks the spot'.  (Dad, Malcolm, Tony).
It's not an assent 
It's a complaint your honour, Mum,
A silver disloyal royal representative.
And Non's silver cake knives are waiting
Somewhere for my son to inherit.
by Patricia Goldberg

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Published by simplyme841

How I got through it I really don't know, but I did a vow of silence for learning disabilities for a year a couple of years ago. I had wanted to do it for three or four years beforehand, after finding out about an Australian who did it for the animals. But the timing was never right. It was difficult but during the silence I learnt about John Francis, the environmentalist and author, who did it for seventeen years whilst walking barefoot across America playing the banjo. I had to make sure I drank enough fluids and had plenty of exercise so that my respiratory system didn't collapse, and learnt new things and read difficult books to keep my mind alert. It is very tough again during lockdown too, but immensely difficult for those with learning disabilities. I began writing my poetry last spring in the first Covid pandemic lockdown, and it poured out of me. But as you can tell from my readings my voice is still weak.

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