Our Right to Thrive: poems on the theme of social justice – Part Three
As part of our call out for poems for the Our Right to Thrive poetry competition we offered the poets who submitted entries the opportunity have their poem published on the project blog. Here are a selection of poems from Eleanor Rose, Myriam San Marco, John Clark, Samuel Turner, Ally Zlatar, Kirsty Donnelly, Arlene Jackson, ... Our Right to Thrive: poems on the theme of social justice – Part Three
Black News 
As part of our call out for poems for the Our Right to Thrive poetry competition we offered the poets who submitted entries the opportunity have their poem published on the project blog.
Here are a selection of poems from Eleanor Rose, Myriam San Marco, John Clark, Samuel Turner, Ally Zlatar, Kirsty Donnelly, Arlene Jackson, Fi Emmerson, Elisha McQueen, Cian McCallan and Ammay Tye.
Eleanor Rose
Eleanor Rose (she/her) is a Nottingham-born poet whose work explores life with chronic, energy-limiting conditions, alongside satirical social commentary and poetry on access, inclusion and the struggles of modern dating. Her poems have been featured on BBC Upload, in a digital exhibition at Nottingham Library and in a Notts Poetry anthology. You can find more of her writing on Instagram @eleanor.rose.writes.
We’re Hiring
Can you work well under pressure?
They say pressure makes diamonds –
is it true?
Can you work
nine-to-five, overtime, anytime?
That’s dedication for you.
Come check us out –
we’re “Disability Confident”
(whatever the fuck that means).
We won’t be reasonably making adjustments,
so you’d better work like a machine.
We’ll ask for ten years in a similar role
and we won’t be disclosing your pay.
There’ll be no remote working –
we can’t have you shirking your duties,
to us, you obey.
Get ready for three rounds of interviews
that are designed for the middle-class man.
If you want to preserve any shred of self-worth,
I suggest you get out while you can.
Myriam San Marco
Based in Bournemouth, Myriam San Marco is a DIY punk poet & writer, artistic producer, and educator whose work explores the themes of mental health, neurodivergence, and social justice. Let me say this in defence of the accused is an extract from their spoken word show: Diagnosed with oppression. To book, contact myriamwordmaker@gmail.com
LET ME SAY THIS IN DEFENCE OF THE ACCUSED
John Clark
John Clark is an Autistic Filmmaker and Disability Advocate that delivers Oliver McGowan Training to NHS Doctors, Carers and Nurses. Striving for equity and justice, he continues to write stories informed by lived experiences and practice mixed arts through community engagement.
Currents
Steadfast, yet resided,
No need to course correct.
Blue, serene dreams,
The open waters of imagination.
Barriers eventually surface.
Ring fenced and stranded,
Soon anchored and weathered.
Adrift.
Others are in Yachts, whilst I barely float.
Desires to succumb, sink in.
Holes plugged, heartstrings tugged.
The need for some buoyancy.
Greeted by horizon long scowls,
And a cacophony of cackling Seagulls.
I’ll get there.
Support or no support,
This journey is mine.
When the weather’s no longer fair,
And clarity becomes clearer,
I’ll coast nearer to a space.
Similar, but not identical to before.
You’ll never visit the same place twice.
Wavering wayfinding,
Providing this vessel holds sway.
Tightrope Walk
I never asked to be put here,
Suspended, still disbelieved.
“Your son’s a textbook case”,
Yet, I only relate to the footnotes.
Quivering feet as each small step,
Is observed from a fair distance.
Weathered by previous attempts,
They question the balance pole.
“The last one didn’t need that”,
“Why should he be an exception?”.
Communication remains astray,
As my words are lost through the altitude.
A wish to clarify’s catastrophised,
By those bearing the heavy duty.
One fine cut is all it takes,
And I’ll fall out of sight and mind.
Begrudgingly, I find my way,
To justify support that I need.
If you were stood here, how would you cope?
With little to your name, on this thin line of hope?
It’s an arduous meander,
So put your binoculars down.
And either meet me halfway,
Or rubberneck the mirror.
Samuel Turner
Samuel Turner, from Carmarthenshire, Wales has special needs, autism and ADHD, is a regional Fundraiser for ITV Wales Regional Pride of Britain Awards Winner (2020), has officially written a poem, written by Sam which was loosely inspired by the original self-published biography 5 star-rated book “Treetops – A Specialist School That Changed My Life” explains about the author himself, which highlights how and when he gets a chance to believe in his old specialist school life at Treetops School in Grays, Essex. This was his first poet written about his life out of his own epic experience.
THE SCHOOL THAT MADE ME FREE
From the year of my life began in 96 the day
since I was officially born, I’ve got grommets to autism,
my parents found that my early life which did delay
and it made it such a trickiest mission.
Meanwhile later, a unexpected school arrived,
it was Treetops School, a specialist place that never me real gone.
As years gone by, after leaving school,
my hopes at the days at college was an massive impact for me,
one day, when I told the head tutors to explain my feelings,
not one seemed understand me more or indeed to agree.
The staff there don’t want know me or my excellences
full of my talents and my achievements of imaginations
making under a lot of depressed on the spot,
my school hears following news about the discriminations,
they’ve later moved me out for a better life as a result!
Behind the scenes, this colleges was like;
“I am not interested in your goals or your stories”
which I felt very pale, as they reckon I was telling lies
so this college, wasn’t right for me, as they’re rudely bullies,
and then, I left the disliked college, and never said my goodbyes!
Treetops School had maintained my welfares in the past,
I’ll never be a struggling person anymore.
Always believe in Treetops, is the most important to me
as it is The School That Made Me Free.
Ally Zlatar
Ally Zlatar is an artist, scholar and activist. She is the founder of The Starving Artist; an artist initiative that utilizes creative voices as a way to create advocacy and systemic reform. She also founded The Starving Artist Publishing Studio to platform marginalized writers and The Starving Artist Scholarship Fund which helps people access inpatient mental health treatment. Her “This Body of Mine” campaign explores migrant experiences through creative voices and has helped support individuals and artists from refugee-seeking backgrounds globally.
the monsters are alive
today, i withstood the trials of agony
as my life is still lingering on
trapped in my sorrow, is a tale of a life
gone past
why are coffins made of wood when life is
fragile as glass?
even if i was a soldier, you know i hate
battles
for i have wounds from wars long ago and
they seem to last
plough fields with my weapons, and abuse
my military vest
as i have grown too tired of this ferocious
fight
and wish borne was a concept rather than
a place
the monsters are alive 1
laying in the proverbial eye of the storm
these turbulent winds paralyze my body
crippled by anguish
and experiencing the fragile nature of the human condition
memories do not live in objects but in our tender agony
for when the storm settles and the memories are released
we rest in the comfort of knowing ferocious winds are just air
Kirsty Donnelly
I am a disabled, single mother who uses poetry to deal with the feelings and emotions brought about by an inaccessible and unfair world. I find comfort and release in writing and I hope that one day the world will accommodate the disabled, but until that day I will continue to push back against the ideas we are lazy or work shy through my words.
Disability rights
I’m at the mercy of men
Of people who don’t have a clue
People claim to understand
But no one else is you
The staring, the comments,
The pointing and laughter
People don’t care about
The pain that comes after
High school bullies don’t grow up
They spend time calling the disabled slurs
Then when you call them out for using them
They say “its just a word”
But the R word has hurt in its intention
Power in its usage
Calling us slurs isn’t big or clever
Its downright abusive
Abusing us doesn’t make your life better
It wont stop disability from happening to you
Because unless you have a sudden death,
One day you’ll experience it too
Disabilities don’t care who they affect
They don’t discriminate, they don’t care how much you fight
So learn to live with us being visible
And standing for our rights
Arlene Jackson
Arlene Jackson’s artistic practice spans creative writing, critical commentary, photography and cyanotype. Her work explores both her own disabled/chronically ill experience and wider representations of disability. Her recent publications may be found in Full House Literary, Ink, Sweat and Tears and The Polyphony.
Her social media/contact details are available on her website.
Very Little Help
The Tesco delivery driver put two fingers to his temple and said, ‘If I was you, I’d kill myself dead!’ He’d shot his shot. A direct blow to the heart, to the soul, to that sacred inner space where light and lightness, person and personality, joy and joviality dance. In there, beyond the divergent body, where a life is loudly lived.
Fi Emmerson
Late-diagnosed AuDHD with experience of mental health difficulties throughout life, I turned to writing to share my experiences, raise awareness and help improve outcomes for others.
Author of ‘Autism is my friend, Anorexia is not’.
Instagram @FiEmmerson
I am the expert on me
‘We don’t need to see you’
But if only you knew…
A decision made without knowing me
Despite crisis and family plea.
‘Call us if you need support’
We may not listen, we may be short
You say you can’t use the phone?
‘Just get on with it, don’t moan’
‘What’s happened this time?’
Has attending A&E in crisis become a crime?
Treated with stigma and contempt
Despite being there to prevent an attempt…
‘Autistic people need to remain in the community’
But being autistic doesn’t grant me immunity
Keeping myself safe has become too hard
Why can’t they see the need to safeguard?
‘You’ve got much worse since you’ve been on the ward’
I’ve not, just now I’m seen, not ignored
But all you do is observe
Support? I’m left feeling I don’t deserve.
I need you to make an effort and listen
Understand both autism and my mental health condition
I remain the expert on myself
Include me in my care, don’t park me on a shelf.
Elisha McQueen
I write from lived experience, exploring themes of identity, disability, and intersectionality. My work highlights moments of invisibility and quiet resilience in the face of systemic challenges. I am drawn to unspoken truths, using poetry to create space for honesty, connection, and vulnerability.
It’s Not Personal
I exist on a fragile spectrum, a tightrope stretched between visibility and silence,
triple jeopardy, stereotypes stacked like evidence, unequal treatment in every sphere,
working tirelessly just to keep pace
Twitching limbs, unsteady gait, spasms, small signs, whispers of difference,
drawing eyes I’d rather forget, though I do not feel weighted by them
Masking what I cannot hide, shadows I carry unseen by most,
a quiet echo in a loud world, fighting to be seen beyond the surface
Hidden but never gone, these scars, these truths resisting erasure,
claiming and carving space in the cracks
I move differently, a persistent reminder of the delicate dance
between being seen and being understood
A balancing act, showing what I can do
yet embracing what I need, space, patience, recognition
Beyond my condition I want to be seen, my strengths, my talents, my voice,
not just the signs that mark my body
Misunderstood, dismissed, skeptics question if my struggles matter, if I am enough to be heard
Living with stigma, frustration, isolation, shame,
a courage summoned to stand tall, though sometimes I settle for just standing
Building resilience from the broken, surviving, resisting, seeking connection beyond the labels
Questioning my worth, doubting my capacity, eroding confidence, blending shame with quiet embarrassment
Navigating a world not built for me, excluded, overlooked, dismissed, judged by limits I did not choose
Fighting to be included, fighting to be accepted at the intersection,
Black, disabled, female, a web of layered struggles, a storm of stereotypes, biases, and barriers
This is intersectionality, not just a word but a weight, engineered disadvantage, processed prejudice,
high-fructose narratives, hydrogenated bias, cosmetic diversity, a carefully blended poison
Almost as often as there’s a Monday, living amidst ruins, chains that diminish autonomy,
masks of manufactured normalcy, thickened expectations, gelling agents of conformity, an artificial semblance
But I am more, resisting, thriving, building strength from the broken places, moving forward beyond the limits they impose
They say it’s not personal, but I carry it in my body, and still, I move
What We Never Talk About
I walk and silent line, a battlefield unseen where battles rage beyond physical scars.
Prejudice, neglect, indifference, invisible wounds carved deep.
Laws stand tall, shields, walls, promises, words etched in hope: protection, fairness.
But behind these polished shields, the truth whispers softly.
Discrimination drifts like clouds, stigma breathes and lingers, unseen.
Training sessions, superficial gloss, like a laminator’s touch.
They speak of inclusion, understanding, change,
chanting: it’s all about your well-being, you matter.
Yet in the cold light of practice,
it’s a distant, hollow facade,
a mask that hides what’s real beneath. Fairness appears like masks on a stage
but are they sincere
or just fleeting illusions?
In this space, I feel like I’m dying,
yet fighting to survive. Underestimated, dismissed, undervalued
my resilience a quiet defiance.
Can awareness be more than words? Can it transform into action,
attitudes that see beyond the surface,
beyond policies that only scratch the skin?
I am drained, exhausted from unfair judgment, overlooked, mistreated, a paralysed witness who aches.
What I crave is a real, heartfelt vow: to understand disability beyond checkboxes, beyond the superficial.
Does that seem reasonable? Or am I dreaming?
Can we finally talk about it? Really talk?
Cian McCallan
Cian McCallan is a poet and writer from Ireland.
My name is Cian. My writing is something really special. Sometimes I have ideas that I think of in my head. Having time to let ideas grow and getting help to write them down is very much needed.
Silence
In the stillness that lingers
In the crisp inviting air
There is a companion
To meet you there
Seen by no man or beast
Forever seeking to welcome you
to the feast. Make no mistake
This is not just someone
This is the Master of
Thought and deed
Not in your imagination
Waiting to be freed
Mostly found in wonder
Or moments of prayer
So, in thoughts that ponder
Silence meets you there
Know Myself
People seeing very dimly
Like watching for land from sea
Giving limited opinions
Really not meeting a real me.
Usually meeting a half-quiet, hyper guy
Who mindfully carries all held inside
Not letting their ideas really go
There’s much more in my head you know.
Life can be boring
This is only too true.
Will my life have one adventure
And bring something new?
Going to stay hoping, not giving up.
Help now calming like waves,
Saying hope is forever enough.
I’m not changing, I’m more probably free
Knowing myself as the real me.
Ammay Tye
Laughter Lines
Treading the tightrope it’s always a risk
To try and better yourself and to see what comes next
Finding the best way to stand tall
Looking for experience in the things that you know
A place to feel accepted where you can be yourself
So tired of being the one left on the shelf
A bible of new beginnings that never ended so great
Trying to hang on to your natural state
The endless drs, the inaudible sighs,
The whispers and sniggers as time has gone by
The rumours, the jokes, the shame and the need
I don’t think it’s so easy for others to perceive
A lifetime of knocks only to start again
I have learnt to become my own friend
So stand with me now to make a vow to yourself to find your own way you can’t be someone else
To wish things were better is only natural
Sometimes it helps to keep things factual
Keeping a balance is still impossible
Finding people you trust is exhaustible
But you can do it one day at a time to learn to be you and peace you will find
To contribute something to find value in what you know
It’s okay if the cracks start to show
