Daily Archives: May 23, 2017

Nothing (for Manchester) by Paul Brookes

I am not a silent poet

is real.

My smile was a pink balloon
floated above me. I sang.

A big bang.
Blood on the balloon.

I find metal nuts and bolts.
I can’t sing. It isn’t real.

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Birdsong by Barry Fentiman Hall

I am not a silent poet

There is only one way
To get through this
Forest of bombs
And official disbelief
We must be like the
Birdsong unceasing
That scores the new day
Because sparrows
Do not understand
How much this hurts
Their day goes on
As must people
With heavy tread
Beating with lead
Glass crunching
With every step
We put one foot
In front of the other
Until we reach
The other side
Warmly embracing
The new day dawned
And joined we shall
Do it again tomorrow

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Dark Tide Rising by Sophia Argyris

I am not a silent poet

We didn’t see the World War,

our parents born as its hand lost grip

temporarily exhausted by so many salutes.

It’s easy to forget.

But we can see the evidence

across Europe, her cities still scarred

her walls still marked by bullets.

It’s easy to imagine.

Now war lifts its hand again

a shadow above us gaining strength,

growing in people’s anger and fear,

their desire for stronger borders.

It breathes rhetoric and propaganda

swells with nationalistic cries,

the voices of the tabloids.

Is it so easy to ignore?

We forgot, and now

we are the dark tide.

 ..

Sophia Argyris is a poet and yoga teacher. Born in Belgium, she has lived Brussels and the North of Scotland, and is currently based in Oxford. Her collectionHow Do the Parakeets Stay Green?’ was published by Indigo Dreams Publishing in 2014.

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The Blast by Des Mannay

I am not a silent poet

(written on the 10th anniversary of the 7/7 bombings)

If you hadn’t made me late that morning

I would have caught the train on time

But you were just a small child in need of comfort

And I, just a parent who couldn’t resist a hug

So anyway, I caught the later train.

To get to the conference – 5 days of hard politics and soft hearts

And that journey known to all –

Bristol Parkway, Swindon, Didcot, Reading and London Paddington

From there I would travel onto Kings Cross or Euston

It wasn’t until way past Swindon, we knew something was wrong

The first one to crack was the driver

In a garbled message he said he couldn’t go on

Journey would end at the next station

And we heard him sob like a small child over the Tannoy

The news spread along each carriage – there’s something wrong…

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May 2017 by Sarah L Dixon

I am not a silent poet

After the Tory Manifesto

there seems to be

a shift to hope.

After the gutter fall

from a fragile, but human hope

on the last two votes.

Belief in people and democracy

was broken into so many pieces

some gave up on rebuilding it.

Many are still staring

at the pieces

unsure where to begin.

This time,

we need a more cautious hope

of reaching for the top of walls.

And a shift from despair to lift us

on theatre wires to fly

when these results come in.

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