South London Din Shanakuz

Coruscating bardic rhythmically brilliant
the tongue in a tempest from Kate Esther

Calvert, Brockley, New Cross, Lewisham
and Deptford, diagnosing all that is bogus

broken and dangerous, phony fictional
fraudulent and counterfeit, all that we

fake and we make-believe is spurious,
all that is mocked and concocted we
simulate, a voice airing trouble in Nunhead

and Bexleyheath, Peckham, Herne Hill,
Camberwell and Hither Green, speaking

of terror domestically and overseas,
painting in tongues a world run on bombs
lies oil war and corporate criminality,

the lines in her mouth circulate a narrative
of light she is weaving above heads
in Her measurement of hearts

and the one lost soul of a global
community in Vauxhall, Lambeth,

Clapham and Battersea, all that it holds
wry warm kind and intelligently helpless,
hope-filled boys weep and girls cry in Catford,

Erith, Bexleyheath, Belvedere and Earlsfield,
Welling, Woolwich, Plumstead and Stoneleigh,

Tooting, Dulwich, Brixton and Dartford Heath,
in every truthful rhythmic lyricality

the goddess of Beckenham and Swanscombe
divinity, Calvert's voices from Ceridwen's cauldron.

Death loss love pain suffering and fake suits,
forged news fair voiced always brilliant never

boring slap dash nor watch ye back in Purley,
Horn Park, Brockwell, Sidcup and Forest Hill,

confusion woven in crisp pictures, reality
the culture of this globe inside outside

beside Addiscombe, Petts Wood, Chelsfield,
Chislehurst and Crokenhill, beyond West

Wickham and Halstead's druidic views, Crystal
Palace, Croydon, Walworth, Morden,

Mitcham, Colliers Wood and Waterloo, moving
bridges at Blackfriars, Westminster, South

Bank, Surbiton and Kew, across time
and space in words placed plaited round
bucket lists and boundaries our face race

nice great love hate culture going down
the tube, left right up aside look away
when alighting, keep silent in the carriage

head down say nothing walk work turn away,
consume just lies oil bombs drive fly buy
more and make a contribution to the world

outside your window on this one time
special earth view, the only one we got,
so powerful it speaks in spoken song

of a Shakespearean inventor retooling Her
own language with the many-voiced
coruscating rhythmically brilliant bardic

tongue of Kate Tempest aka Calvert
from Brockley, New Cross, Lewisham

and Deptford, diagnosing all that is
bogus broken fucked unfixable and dangerous.