The red chair makes a holy space for dreams

A red chair decorates my sitting room
Coral red,as if  from  deep sea bed
My  sweet poinsettia  tolerates my gloom

I  turn on radio 3 for   Schubert’s  themes
While this remains, he never will be dead
The red chair speaks salvation from  our doom

To read  of  politicians and their schemes
Makes a noise like thunder in my head
My  poinsettia  aids me  with  post Brexit gloom

Yet is it right to shine a like a sunbeam
While  refugees   trudge silently ,unfed?
The red chair makes a   holy space  for dreams

The rich   plot  death and wealth by legal means
Jesus   hangs alone forever,  dead.
Do churches turn their  vision from this scene?

I observe  my loaves of seeded wholemeal bread.
While  children of this world  starve underfed
The   chair    I write from in my  dreaming room,
With a  red poinsettia, haunt my  dreams