Polar Bear

one love

...made out of words

I would describe myself most of the time as reasonably computer savvy. I’ve even been known to delve into the registries of old PCs, tinkering with lines of digital gobbledygook to keep the old things going. However, what catches me out again and again is when technology takes a step forward and I’m left behind thinking I have to do something which actually does itself. Bluetooth is a case in point. I’ve had very little to do with it even though it’s been around for a long while. I hate to admit that I spent a few minutes looking round my car in the dark for a jack socket last night so I could plug the audio from my tablet into the sound system. After a few minutes, the penny dropped. Bluetooth, you fool! I turned on the ignition, woke up the tablet and hey presto, sound!

And it…

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Threads, by Mark Connors


I am not a silent poet


We live in the age of pulling threads,
open colossal cans of worms
which once kept bigotry contained.
We cannot help but hear them spill:
the plop, the seethe and the wriggling
to uncomfortable truths;
we have moved forwards but stepped back.
Our leaders pull threads and get votes,
legitimise bad behaviours
in our pubs, on radio
in the places where we go to work,
on a scale not known for decades.
They split countries 50/50
in ways which once caused civil wars.


There was a film that shocked us, once,
about a nuclear winter
in Sheffield, of all places.
As realistic as it was,
the three-minute generation
were protected by a comfort:
mutually assured destruction,
as cold as a comfort can be
but a comforting deterrent
which is no longer evident
in these days of no trust. Seldom
have we seen such oscillation:
one day leaders threat…

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