I wrote this poem around the time the statue of Colston was thrown into the river in Bristol. I think I was spurred to write it because I have always been a bit flummoxed by peoples’ attachment to bits of stone and steel. (This consternation is something I had already written about a few years ago. I called the poem below “Idols”, and it was one of those things that I wrote and thought I would come back to finish later. However, I completely forgot about it after that first draft was finished in 2020. So, it languished in my notes folder from 2020 till 2024 when I stumbled across it completely by accident. I realised that my thoughts on this have remained the same. So I have brushed it up, and here it is. I hope it resonates with you too.
When they came to us, they threw most of our images into the waters.
Some others they desecrated… blood, bronze, leather and letters… all ripped apart.
At gunpoint, at sword point, with cannonball, at the other end of the dreaded whip.
The rest they charitably “agreed” could live on in museums… remembrance of a time that can never again exist.
To be gazed upon, safely stored, paid for, as evidence of their superior benevolence.
“Come!” they told us, “Do not put your hope in these graven images.”
“We beckon you lovingly into this new age of enlightenment.”
At gunpoint, at sword point, with cannonball, at the other end of the dreaded whip.
“Now is the time to put your past behind you.
Look forward children, throw your idols into the sea.”
And so we did. Remembrance of a time that never did exist.
Like everything else, time passes.
And so, now, we begin to do the asking.
“Why do you hide your history in hollow hunks of stone and metal?
Are we not past your wonderful age of enlightenment?
When will YOU cast YOUR idols into the sea?”
