We are not silent poets by Jenni Pascoe

I am not a silent poet

We’re that candle and laptop lit electrical lapse
We are paperclip fixes for broken zips
We’re plectrums crudely fashioned from pop bottle caps
We’d be jumpers for goalposts!
(except we’re scared of being hit)

But we are not silent poets!

You’ll find us in back rooms near the bathrooms in bars
On plinths, on the Fringe, in libraries and the like
We’re free thinking, tea drinking, modern day bards
And we properly take the mike

No, we are not silent poets!

Our love of paper does not make us stationary
With hearts full of fire and arms full of dictionaries
We write… the wrongs of this world

When our pens run dry
We’ll sharpen our pencils
We’ll spray paint our stanzas
in Banksy style stencils
When our crayons are broken
And our pencils are blunt
We will etch into mountains –
‘Donald Trump is…
somewhat misguided’

And when they’ve taken…

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For the children of Burma, etc by Carolyn Srygley-Moore

I am not a silent poet

The guillotine falls
Upon a rose petal
Velveteen as that storybook rabbit
Worn tossed aside
Eyes missing
From the vulturous wear and tear.
What is
Carrion? Roadkill
Sloughed crosses on the dogwood
Childrens’ heads
Rolling
In Burma.
Even in the American ghetto
The massacres occur
But not like this.
Not like this.
This is only a guess.
But photographs are sirens bringing
The truth the rocks the cliffs
Near
As the banshee crosses cultural divides
Yes dear Odyssey
The banshee wails.

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Solemn Signature of Death by Ananya S Guha

I am not a silent poet

A journalist reports
we kill, in this country
of hills, mountains and
plains. In this country
barricaded by snow peaks
walls, land which know no
country, only people
We have forfeited songs
of  freedom, slung over
shoulders of enslaved race
we talk peace, not war
but war is in raging footpaths
we wage it against relenting writers
to a photo finish.
In Kashmir even as snow capped mountains
are hidden by rising sun
the blood spots tarnish a nation
now, as refugees come to our embattled
country, we say no to high raised peaks
simmering with discontent.
The journalist was blasted seven times
till her brains outwitted her body.
Solemn signature of death.

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Breakthroughs by Eliza Mimski

I am not a silent poet

I.

As she approached the conflict, hoping for a major breakthrough, she remembered all the times

when she walked down hallways and embraced the unknown. There were times when she scrapped her plans. There were times when she whispered to herself to go back. And there were times when she warriored forward.

II.

The protests in St. Louis remind us that grief is not allowed.

You will be crushed if you attempt to have a voice.

III.

Today on the front page someone has slept with the wrong person. The drinking water is still bad. Opioid crisis. Russian probe. Colin Kaepernick is a good guy.

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The Emmys by Eliza Mimski

I am not a silent poet

Isn’t it funny how Sean Spicer showed up at the Emmys last night? I mean,

I’m always up for a good joke and it was a big surprise. I’ll have to give it that.

Did you see Melissa McCarthy’s face? Did you see the faces of the people in the audience?

So nice that someone can make fun of themselves. I guess I’ll have to forget that

he was the mouthpiece for Donald J.Trump. That’s all in the past. Now we can feel sorry

for Sean Spicer. After all, he was discarded like so many others. And you know what?

Even George W is looking good these days. Well, maybe not really.

I think if we’re going to be fair we need to give equal time to Steve Bannon. Why wasn’t

he featured at the Emmys? Maybe because no Melissa McCarthy played him, but I still

think it was a…

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