Monthly Archives: October 2015

driven with bells sounding loud by Bengt O Björklund

I am not a silent poet

driven with bells sounding loud
I see no other I as road dips into red
recollections on fire flaming high
with words at the end of empty barrels

scrolled like the ancients poor memory
I steam refusals like a powdered gun man
caught in the sullen room of claws and theft
with only a towel and a death certificate

young men die young and coarse
religion crawls chafed and burning hard
more men are rolling in the waves tonight
there is a subtle reference to dead seaweed

it’s the juggling season you see
where homage is just another page
singing red and wet and final
we are like dogs hovering on line

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The Lifeguard by Jackie Biggs

I am not a silent poet

A mother is gasping, crying,
choking salt water
at the end of her world.

A father fights the heaving sea,
small children grasp his arms
others cling to his legs,

his kicking limbs their only chance.
Hundreds of screams swell in waves
as three hundred people cling to a drowning hope.

Who do you choose?
Who do you save?
Who do you watch die?

The mother? The father?
Some of the little ones? A baby?
You decide, in the silence of your mind.

Lines of children on the shore
wait to be hung upside down,
to let the water out of tiny lungs.

The border agency boat stands off,
where the crew guard drowned children in the hold,
so many dead fish.

Day after day, boat after boat,
they still come
over the roughening seas

while Europe stands by
and watches.
And waits for the deluge to end.

And that…

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Refugee by Dominic Albanese

I am not a silent poet

what part
did you have
in destruction evil intent
oil gas underground riches
above ground greed
nope
break it down
to gleeful asssssss holes who
claim power for a
lunch box…n scoff at
human rights….nay they say
rulers rights
goes that way
on daily life too
some other “dark soul” claims rights
over your ladder climb…or takes what is
yours
claims it is mine….for God n King
the fuck

me…jobs girls good fishing
I know
“me hiding me head in the sand”
with out taking a real stand
Pray…best I can
Arc Angels all the Saints in Heaven
(jury is out on that ya know…..Dawkins n his gang o lops)
tip tops….all ya can do really
is feed ya kids….stay off da skids
act as if a benevolent force has yr back
not
some drunk power mad manipulator speculator
selling souls for candy on Halloween

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Patrick Widdess

Writers for Calais Refugees

Migrants

Bodies of 71 migrants found in an abandoned lorry in Austria – 27th August 2015

We have long lost count.
Even in this one lorry it is hard to put a number
on the mangled mass of bodies, nameless and barely clothed.
Their residue gushes out the door in a slurry of humanity.
One is a girl, not more than two.
Chances are she was one of the first to go
cradled in arms still strong enough to bear her
among relatives still alive to weep.
No gratitude for this small mercy.

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Halloween in Gaza by Antony Owen

A brilliant poem by Antony Owen!

I am not a silent poet

I once watched a sea of bic lighters at Wembley when Mexican waves were popular and
Ossie Ardiles wiped missiles of flob from patriotic gentleman. I once cried for men who
Starved themselves hollow and Nan switched them over saying there were evil but I saw
A man in a mural smiling at me and all I knew at nine years old was to save him my Penguin
Bars and post them to Belfast. I once saw coppers and miners beat men from each other and all that was left were helmets for heads and wheels that stopped moving the sky above Yorkshire.
I once kissed my Granddad and thought I was gay and Aids moved in down a road in Birmingham
Where people washed their hands red raw till they looked like spam. I once wrote a letter to Cyrille Regis asking if he wanted me on the left…

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