The Scream

‘The Scream’, by Judith Bryers Holloway

(In reverent memory of Edvard Munch) 

Who knew I’d end up shorter than my great-grand teen?

I’d need aids to see and hear?

I’d forget the names of people I’ve known for years

and the potent words I need to define my beliefs? 

Who knew I’d mutter to myself like an old nark                                                                

as I search for keys or phone or my car in a carpark?

Who would have anticipated


would cause such trauma I’d want to flee –

back to the time when we were free

to sing and paint and write and dance

without wiseguys uploading a chance

to make money out of us

for the obscenely rich in their tax havens?

If I’d realised how short my life would be,

I might have printed millions of flags

emblazoned with the only religious slogan that makes sense:



Judith Bryers Holloway, 2.6.2021

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