Song of the Gulf of Boni (Bone) by Maj Ikle

I am not a silent poet

Why do you not know what separates us

When you presume to name me

After your body parts?

To then exist unseen

As if transparency

Means no personality

When…For all your industry

Dirting on my shores

You’re stuck in the shallows

Where mine shape yours

Licking and rinsing you clean

Salty balm for your festering sores

Feeling what you should see

Bone solid is not the only way to be

Still…You bathe in my edges

Because you daren’t

Go all the way down to deepness

Where spiral gyres move and shift

Too much pressure for you

Skin child, rude chimpanzee

Clinging to crusts

When you could be

Symbiont grooming me

Instead …You brand with numbers

“Eighty miles long, thirty wide”

Avoiding the fact I’m the majority

I’m not even a me

We are a body

Planetary blood coursing

Adventure energy resourcing

We are water

Ceaseless sea

..

Poem from recently…

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Happy Christmas to Bad Hombres by Antony Owen

I am not a silent poet

At the foodbank, there is a human wall the blind built

two magpies for joy peck at turkey and silver in tinfoil

oh, how rich the meat is when it is left to hang by butchers in suits.

At the foodbank, there is a woman ripping a wing of white meat and

the left wing breaks as easy as the right but she doesn’t care,

She will not grab at the meat, she is still, yes still womanly.

At the foodbank, there is a tin soldier melting in a ladle

she is remembering Basra and the rich man’s decorations

she is hanging baubles of blood from a tree of shoes she cannot un-see.

At the foodbank, is a human wall of bad hombres from everywhere.

They are saying happy Christmas to the bad hombres serving them,

they are all here but somewhere else trying to find the wishbones.

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