Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Journeywoman. Journeyman.
You were a generation dreaming;
journeywoman, journeyman,
stepping off the plane
to an unknown future
from a certain past that
became more and more like
the promise that escaped you.
You were a generation
dreaming to change the pattern,
undo the seams, re-style
the suits you wore
as you stepped off the boat,
Windrush-style.

Frederic: this not so young man
had struggled as a juvenile,
thirties-style, to unionize,
enfranchise. A troublesome man,
proud to be a darkblack
worker, survivor. You
split the seams
to suit your schemes.

Linda: journeywoman. Journeywoman,
you were a generation dreaming.
Coming from a certain past,
coming to an unknown future,
coming to bear us and
spare us from the masterpattern,
styled, cut, ready-to-wear suit
of canes, molasses
thick-set in the heat. Burning
good white sugar,
raising a glass of rum
in the sunset of the master
as you sailed away;
meeting this mancountry,
face-to-face with dreams.
Journeywoman, journeyman,
you were a generation,
dreaming a world, to change.