{"id":15258,"date":"2017-12-11T09:00:44","date_gmt":"2017-12-11T09:00:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=15258"},"modified":"2017-12-02T14:07:54","modified_gmt":"2017-12-02T14:07:54","slug":"trevor-conway","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/trevor-conway\/","title":{"rendered":"Trevor Conway"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Progress<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Wasn\u2019t there a time when<br \/>\nAll that adult talk<br \/>\nOf a past where dark skin<br \/>\nSwung from trees,<br \/>\nAnd ballot boxes beyond the reach of women\u2019s hands,<br \/>\nSeemed like a sad dream?<\/p>\n<p>I was a full-bellied child.<br \/>\n\u201cFamine\u201d was an antique word,<br \/>\nRusting like the Titanic.<br \/>\nExposure came leaking through the years:<br \/>\nNew famines in far-off places,<br \/>\nPictures of people still losing things<br \/>\nLike homes, rights<br \/>\nOr their lives.<\/p>\n<p>I passed a family in a clouded car,<br \/>\nTheir breath painted on its cold windows,<br \/>\nHuddled like prey in the sparkling night.<br \/>\nThe children were sleeping, their mother wounded<br \/>\nWith worry and regret, a battered spirit.<br \/>\nAnd hunger seemed ugly when I saw it in her eyes.<\/p>\n<p>The past is a lens turned slowly,<br \/>\nSo you barely notice.<br \/>\nIt\u2019s getting dark again,<br \/>\nNo light to brighten some homes.<br \/>\nAnd every child will grow to understand<br \/>\nThe past is a modern thing.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Trevor Conway<\/strong> writes mainly poems, stories and songs. He posts to his website\/blog occasionally (<a href=\"https:\/\/trevorconway.weebly.com\/\">trevorconway.weebly.com<\/a>), and his first collection of poems,\u00a0<em>Evidence of Freewheeling<\/em>, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Progress Wasn\u2019t there a time when All that adult talk Of a past where dark skin Swung from trees, And ballot boxes beyond the reach of women\u2019s hands, Seemed like a sad dream? I was a full-bellied child. \u201cFamine\u201d was an antique word, Rusting like the Titanic. Exposure came leaking through the [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15258","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15258","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15258"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15258\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15337,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15258\/revisions\/15337"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15258"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15258"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15258"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}