June 27, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION



Sarah Ito






I lived on New North Road, I was happy.

Ate fish and chips from a newsprint cone, hoisted a warm pint or two in the pub now and again,

I was happy.


Loved my Royals, supported the PM, shopped at Harrods every Yuletime.

Had a few pounds

in my pocket. I was happy.


My spouse and I, we toured cottages. Not to let, but to buy.

Then something changed. Everything changed.


They came. They came in hordes, angry and violent.

Everything changed.


They called us names. They ridiculed our way of life. They ridiculed us.

They ridiculed us while they

drained our social services to support themselves.


Then the violence came. Came, grew, choked all in its path.

They rioted in our streets.

They bombed our underground. Then,

Our soldier was beheaded, hacked on the street in South East London,

in the daylight hours, in front

of the strollers.


The Royals, the PM, the Parliament, they  posture, they lecture, they warn.

Nothing changes. Nothing changes.


My job is gone, I’m on the dole.

Can’t pay my taxes.

My money, it doesn’t get me much now.


My spouse and I, we want to leave, go somewhere else,

While we still can.

It’s just that we don’t know where.

We don’t know. Just that we are unhappy.


My country was my home.

Now we have no home.


Now we are the hordes of the angry and the violent

Flooding the continent, wave after wave,

Driven out,


Once proud Brits, now nomads.

Now nomads.










Sarah Ito

I am a novelist (GROWING UP GREENWICH, Outskirts Press), blogger and essayist, and occasional poet.


  1. Jules Clare June 28, at 04:13

    Very thought provoking. An accomplished write. I hold a different view. I am Welsh living in England. To me I am persecuted by the hordes. In fact I am moving to a different country. I abhor racism and discrimination in any form. Living in Lozells Road for thirteen years where two Asian gentleman were burned alive in a Post Office hurt my soul. So did seeing a three year old child fished out of the sea near Turkey. I have survived a brain haemorrhage. And nearly died 18 times on the operating table. Much more too. I am an iceberg. 90% of me is under the sea. I don't look at colour. I look at heart and soul. Of individuals. Not so called Pakis, Niggers, spivs, yids, imbeciles, nutters, white honkies, facists, communists, gays, politicians or even pigs. I categorically deny that I use these words normally. I am just making a point. Strongly. Life is special. My life attitude can be summed up by the 1971 Blue Mink hit "Melting Pot".. Thank you for listening to me. I am indeed impressed with your style of writing... Jules


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