The raw sadness of MJ permeates the land, my being, the missing of a faithful friend.
Cigarette rolled, it and candle lit
I await the body of a beloved
dog, Jal, the constant friend of MJ
I saw them first walking down the thoroughfare
A joy in her face, a hessian rope lead
matching her braided dreadlock hair
He’d just arrived from a rescue centre,
was frisky, jumpy, handsome, large and lanky.
Later, may be a year or so, they came to live
on my land in a horsebox
One cold January day. Then settled here.
Later Jo materialised, with his faithful Gobi,
and later came Bobji, so we were 4 dogs
Of course, all is a rehearsal for a future time
Space left for Kali, Gobi and eventually Bobji
And MJ’s future dog being, for surely there is one.
Who will lay beside me, I think, on my last day
As MJ did with Jal, Who will bring water
Whisper in my ear? Her tenderness is touching.
Plant snow drops, honesty acconite,
on the mound of earth above the body?
Who will drink whisky and talk of my life?
I will be glad for the worms to feast, even
Bramble to grow. Meanwhile I will tend
this patch of earth, in which a body rests.

Back catalogue of Jal
Later that day
Alone, and grateful for that, I watch a powerful shocking Netflix documentary on Ukraine. Winter on fire. Documenting 90 days, the film opened winter 2014 with these bare bones. Yanokovych, president, had been promising an economic agreement with the European Union that would help further integrate Ukraine, which declared its independence from Russia in 1991, into Europe. When at the last moment he turned instead to Russia, Euro-inclined Ukrainians took to Maidan Square to protest.
Innocent protest and a belief in people can change – no doubt forged in the Orange Revolution – was met with brutallity. They had to arm themselves with tactics and know how. Enormous comradely, priests, women, lawyers, labourers all. The force of the first beating with metal truncheons finally to open fire was hard to look at – who are their mothers I asked. Les Miserable baracades, saucepans as helmets. Hundreds had to die, their bodies carried over crowds. But in the end – the president fled to Russia, elections gave democracy, there was hope for determination. And now Russia invades.
Kaliwood 