Yes We Can

NEW YEAR, 2009

Venus in the arc of the young moon is a boat in the arms of a bay,

the sky clear to infinity but for the trailing gossamer of a transatlantic plane.

The old year and the old era dead, pushed burning out to sea bearing the bones of heroes, tyrants, ideologues, thieves and deceivers in a smoke of burning money.

The dream is over. Glaciers will melt. Seas will rise to swallow golden islands.

Somewhere a volcano may whelm a city, earth shake its skin like an old horse, a hurricane topple a town to rubble.

Yet tonight, under the cold beauty of the moon and Venus, something like hope begins,

as if times can turn, the world change course, as if truth can speak, good men come to power, and words have meaning again.

Maybe black-hearted boys in love with death won't blow themselves and us to smithereens.

Maybe guns will fall silent, the powerful cease slaughtering the weak, the rich will not gorge as the poor starve.

Hope spoke the word 'Yes', the word 'we', the word 'can', and a thousand British teenagers at Poetry Live rose to their feet in a single yell of joy - black, white, Christian, Muslim, Jew, faithful and faithless.

We are all in this together.

Ie. gallwn ni. (Yes, we can)

-Wales' national poet Gillian Clarke