Daily Archives: December 27, 2016

Aleppo by Barbara Donne

I am not a silent poet

Aleppo sounds
so gentle to the tongue

unlike
distorted din
of Hell upended
falling upon drum-cracked ears
split foundations
tumbled towers

where the unbreathable dust
smothers
countless bodies
and their ripped apart hearts

when time and sands settle
how will the scattered remember?
which way home?
is somewhere terrible?
or fine?

that it begins with an in breath
exults two beats
‘till the last
syllable’s kiss is blown

Aleppo
sounds so gentle
to the tongue

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Gross Domestic Product by Carolyn O’Connell

I am not a silent poet

Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Boxing Day
shops display bargains decked to entice
feet follow the siren call and fingers tap
the dance of consumption’s cravings
for new, more, next , brighter, better.

As the tills click and the profits mount
the gnomes of the cities count the coins
charting the status of every purchase
calculating winners and losers in the race.

The gamble goes on but brings no joy
it’s an addiction of capital’s empty pride
strong as any legal high, heroin or hash;
the down is the bill at the end of the month.

But the Golden towers that glitter with pride
do not bring peace or care to the home
children loose childhood to tablets and phones
and the newest purchase quickly come old.

Would but we calculated each man’s worth
the success of a company not by the sales:
come out of this race, this addiction to…

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Steadfast by Robert Garnham

I am not a silent poet

Imagine a prison

Impossible to break from

Yet without physical form.

Invisible walls

Built not of brick but of pain,

Notions, expectations,

Life ruined by the abstract.

 

There are others of your kind

Unseen in their struggle

But the very nature of your

Unique and sublime imprisonment

Blinds you to them.

Rather than fight, they line

Or else ignore the obvious,

Faces sweating behind bitter masks.

 

Those who are fortunate

Fill you with anger.

Their love is nought but luck,

And how lucky they love,

Another bead of sweat rolls

Beneath your jaded caricature.

They’re so immature!

 

You dance in your mind,

Rhythms so sensual,

Pounding party silly rhythms,

Inexplicable sun shining smiling

Fresh faced rhythms incomprehensible

That fact should swamp denial.

Go on, dance, close your eyes and

Dance and let yourself go in a

Way that shouldn’t be disco lights

Flashing almost unbelievable as you

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The Doors by Robert Garnham

I am not a silent poet

For those who are the exquisite hidden in cupboards.

For those who fortune denies because they refuse to shout.

For those who would otherwise shine so bright were it not so dark and needlessly so.

For those who more conscious than the jaded so called moral imperative.

For those who multicolour the beige.

For those who feel that burning pounding quick-tempo heartbeat tick tick ticking absolute proof down deep within.

For those who don’t want to upset anyone.

For those who are being true to themselves.

For those who love.

For those who would dearly like to love but never will so long as they’re fumbling in the pitch dark.

For those who would spread compassion if given the chance.

For those who stand tall and proud in the face of ignorance.

For those who challenge the invented with the blinding torch of truth.

For those who caress and whisper…

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