Sallyanne Rock
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sallrock.bsky.social
Sallyanne Rock
@sallrock.bsky.social
880 followers 1.1K following 21 posts
queer, neurodivergent poet and access support worker
www.sallyannerock.com

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sallrock.bsky.social
A beautiful drawing by Megan Wakefield in response to my poem in the latest @propelmagazine.bsky.social 🕊️
A drawing of a sparrow made using coloured pastels on a light brown background Matthew 10:29 Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. his eye on the sparrow when the order eye on sparrow when the bomb sparrow falling when the fire his will when the sniper when wing was copter he watched them spill like coins
February 3, 2025 at 10:55 AM
sallrock.bsky.social
A brilliant and powerful poem. Welcome to Bluesky, @bigstevepoet.bsky.social 🦋
It could happen to any one of us. It’s a grey morning, calm. December. We are in town killing time, maybe meeting friends, something other than our own company, the same four walls. Just outside the travel agents a ten-year-old girl, shot at a checkpoint you check your phone, but there’s nothing new. There never is. We pass Quality Spuds here, they gunned down the chef simply for feeding people who were hungry and you pat your pockets for the cigarettes you keep forgetting you don’t smoke now. We walk on. Unexpectedly, the sun breaks through clouds, and we both look up you cannot see the quadcopters, but they play the sound of children, screaming you drop a handful of shrapnel into the hat of the man playing something unrecognisable on his accordion outside the shopping centre we hear them call from under the rubble but how can we help? what can we do? and you tell me how yesterday the woman at the bus stop dropped like a felled ox they lie by the road, drown in their own blood say that you stood there, useless, while others did what little they could to save her ambulances are targets, the doctors are gone You feel guilty, you say. The wind picks up and I have no words, can mouth no absolution that either of us would believe in. We walk, shrink ever further down into our jackets, put one foot in front of the other, and wait. Copyright Steve Pottinger 3 December 2024
December 4, 2024 at 9:09 PM