Daily Archives: May 17, 2016

The day death died by Jonathan Beale

I am not a silent poet

“Pfizer makes its products to enhance and save the lives of the patients we serve.” . “Pfizer strongly objects to the use of its products as lethal injections for capital punishment.”

Morality!  Blindly strident –

Coloured by years of the moss corrupting –

Blinding all vision – until vision becomes

Meaningless.

And is led by the cries of the crowd

Kill!  Kill!  Kill!

That unholy innocent trinity of Sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride to stop the heart.

Incidental overtones from a chemistry class

Perhaps – who knows?

The bewildering abstract

Of a so-structured-death.

Between too much day-time TV

And The Good Book.

From the hands of lives that have

lead to preserve life

And save.

And save.

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. how to recognise holiday makers and other creatures . by Sonja Benskin Mesher

I am not a silent poet

why will i want to or think of it

at all.                      in lower case.

aren’t we all    complementary,

designed with different features

and ramblings, not pausing for

breath.

we live in the country ; know that

all are different, enjoy a good time

overall.

pause.

aren’t we all in this together,     a

question with gritted              teeth

eventualities and commas.

do not worry over things. said this

before.

all togther.

the difference could make no difference.

classified.

how to recognise

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On Her Wedding Day by Sheila Jacob

I am not a silent poet

She doesn’t look, can’t look,

head and arms pinned back,

bridesmaid’s hands

shielding each eye

and the woman who cuts

squatting low,

trimming beneath folds

of a brightly patterned dress.

Afterwards

the families celebrate.

She’s promised

meat, buttermilk,

bites hard

on the bedclothes

as he takes his pleasure

for the first time.

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Girls who drop plates by Sheila Jacob

I am not a silent poet

Should be seen to straightaway,

their fathers warn, hearing the crash,

these girls who sing and dance,

careless about the house, too clumsy

for men to want as wives, they must

be tamed, there are places up north

where this is nipped in the bud

when they’re soft , small, not old

enough to remember the midwife

with her razor blade and a mother

watching, pleading it should be done

because it’s always been the way

of things, a husband  prefers it,

he’ll honour the family, bring

live goats and jewels.

These girls are wild, their

fathers say, it’s against

the law to cut

but in our  far-flung village

who will turn and tell?

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