Sally Flint

Sally Flint

Sally Flint lectures in creative writing and co-edits Riptide Journal at the University of Exeter, and is a tutor with The Poetry School.

Because There Is No Planet B
Thursday, 10 October 2019 10:23

Because There Is No Planet B

Published in Poetry

Because There Is No Planet B

by Sally Flint

WE MARCH

to the square, as if we might clear

the atmosphere's carbon overload

by shouting:  It's not too late.

WE MARCH

past banks, Costas, the plastic filled

pound shop, and a new vegan restaurant

where waiters call out: Our boss says go join!

WE MARCH

to the homeless guys' slow hand claps.

Another sign: I'm a teacher missing

my maths class. A boy blows a trumpet,

a wide-eyed toddler on her father's shoulders

points to the press cameras and police.

WE MARCH

in a quaking snake ‒ flank motorists,

some beep in support, others stay grim-faced.

Never did the sky seem so clear to this sea of people

behind a grey-haired woman's banner: Fuck Capitalist

*Heroes*: We're in this Together. A small city of thousands,

uniting with millions who know it's through human pollution

WE MARCH

National Poetry Day: In Union
Friday, 27 September 2019 12:49

National Poetry Day: In Union

Published in Poetry

In Union

by Sally Flint

i.m. Bob Crow

Born in reach of the London Mint
he watched men make money –

got to know the value of working days
as families were transported from slums

and shared bathrooms to fields
and forests which seemed the other side

of the world. Coming home was the only way.
His grandfather, a prize fighter, taught him how

to punch, to use weight. Life can be made better.
Share the wine whether communist,

libertarian, socialist. Those who shook
his hand believed it to be both strong

and soft – that the best connections
are rooted in truth.

The Mansard Roof
Friday, 20 September 2019 08:21

Climate Strike: The Big House

Published in Poetry

The Big House

by Sally Flint

(for PH and ZM)


This is the house we want to live in,
with multiple windows and shutters.
A veranda to absorb sunsets,
gardens that tumble to a golden beach.

This is the house we want to share,
with bright stucco walls;
a doorbell that repeats Clare de la Lune,
flurries of clematis around the front porch.

This is the house we want to have;
its rooms so big we can run across them,
or around pianos, four poster beds,
and spacious baths you can step into.

A house with pools and terraces,
for evenings when friends congregate
to barbecues of free-range steak, drink
vintage wine brought up from the cellars.

This endless house, with attics and corners
for spiders to settle, never to feel scared
of being trodden on, or trapped in jars,
with multi-coloured rugs on floors and walls.

A place where sun finds our faces,
and neighbours share fruit from trees, with smiles.
This is the house we wish for, with no need
for fences. Home to which we all own a key.

From Pieces of Us (Worple Press)

Revolution
Wednesday, 04 September 2019 10:05

Revolution

Published in Poetry

Revolution

by Sally Flint

Top of Google it's a wine bar, a game,
a make-up range. I recall science lessons ‒
to rotate, twirl, circuit, cycle, orbit.
It's the Earth spinning around the sun.
On the screen the little circle rolls
over the Thatcher era and a miners' revolt.

It's an instance of sudden change
industrial, technological. Political theorists
say in terms of evolution a 'revolution'
can only happen when a government is weak.
It's a rebellion that forces change ‒ as the little circle
I have no name for rolls around again.