Daily Archives: December 21, 2016

Return of the Gelatin Men by Steve Sibra

I am not a silent poet

(big sigh) Hear that?

Low rumble as they descend from beyond the clouds

giant copper molds encase each body

They are lime green

and each the size of a football field

Hide the children and old ones in the Airstream trailers

hope for the best

expect the worst

we are in a tight spot — and not even

Walt Disney

can save us now.

Every seven years

the Gelatin Men come down from the sky

To pull the hearts from the bodies of virgins

To rip the lips from cowboy gentlemen

To saw off the legs of the school marms

To suckle the intestines of the politicians

To pluck the eyes from the whiskey barons

To slice off the heels of the athletes

To distend the bellies of the elderly

To ooze on the floors and walls of the Methodists

And to wish the meat packers

A Happy Happy Day…

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Dust to Ash by Nicole Surginer

I am not a silent poet

I am worn, breathless, depleted.
For there is no break in the battle,
nor treaty for a moment’s rest.
Discord rules my world.
The moon cries blood.
Stars dim, clouded in toxic air.
My soul feared the darkness;
The coward has fled.
My afflicted mind broke loose,
desperately seeking solace;
Scattered my thoughts in the ruins.
Oh my desecrated heart!
How iniquity ravaged her,
ripping her apart at the seams.
I lay wrecked in the sand.
Sightless eyes swelled shut,
pummeled by savage scenes.
Thirst for peace tastes bitter.
Numb lips chapped the words
I can no longer speak.
I surrender my brokenness
to the madness of war.
Bleed dry to the bone,
smear my dust in the ash

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Imagine by Cath Campbell

I am not a silent poet

Imagine you
and hasty departure, with little food or water, sodden feet,
calluses, sores, cold,
and Mum crying softly so as not to wake your little sister
who is teething,
and Dad cursing the foul weather because he doesn’t know
what else to blame,
and shared misery binding the glue that knits your skin together,
it has worn so thin,
and your six year old self not moaning because in every face
you see the breaking point,
and your six year old heart growing an extra layer of hardness
in all the wrong places.

Imagine love
in a world narrowed down to a distant alien horizon
on a never-ending road.

Imagine that.

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I am not a silent poet

Get chosen by “God”!

Make rule last longer than life.

Create the unseen…

Spread territory.

Religion your strategy.

Wage wars or missions.

All men are equal

only in eyes of same faith.

Save from hell or ….kill.


Joseph K. Wells does not live by bread alone but also through words created by God or Man. Visit his cyber real estate located on www.paperonweb.wordpress.com.

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Not the Dabke by Dave Urwin

I am not a silent poet

(the Dabke is a dance of Middle-Eastern origin, common in Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq, northern Saudi Arabia etc. It is performed at joyful occasions such as weddings.)

(To be read aloud to a jaunty rhythm, possibly with your foot tapping in time.)


Take your partners for the killing dance,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

One step forward, two steps back,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.


The organisers watch from their houses on the hill,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

No one can stop it, they don’t have the will,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Kill, kill, kill, kill.


Rape a young woman in front of her child,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing dance.

Then execute them both, as the crowd goes wild,

it’s the killing dance, it’s the killing…

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You and Your Weapons by Denise Fletcher

I am not a silent poet

Influencing our children

At the youngest age

You and your weapons

Using the children like

Pawns in war games

You and your weapons

Training our boys with

Expensive war toys

You and your weapons

Turning brother against brother

On the streets in cold blood

You and your weapons

Wasting taxpayer money

When people are in need

You and your weapons

Mass-produced on a massive

Scale for mass murder

You and your weapons

You call it defense

But it’s really attack

You and your weapons

Dropping bombs

Like falling leaves

You and Your weapons

Watch your step

You might lose a limb

You and your weapons

Hurting our bodies & minds

With illegal testing

You and your weapons


DENISE FLETCHER is a freelance writer and artist. Her creative work has appeared in Kaleidoscope magazine, Open Minds Quarterly and other various publications. She is the author of the chapbook, A Thread…

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