Daily Archives: February 14, 2018

St George is Cross by P.A.Levy

I am not a silent poet

in olden days every hamlet
had its village idiot
harmless childlike even amusing

modern times make way for the boozer
bigot washing down a tandoori chicken
or hot vindaloo probably with
a danish lager or a pilsner
starting all his sweaty sentences with
i’ll tell yer this for nothing
as if his philosophies are worth
a million

the latest fashion in racism
with asylum seekers and pakis an ever
popular target
only now asian means arabs
and arabs mean muslim extremists
with blacks and jews and pikeys finding
themselves temporarily relegated to division two
fists thump tables to emphasise
come over here take all our jobs and jump
the housing queue use our NHS and schools

however as i try to enjoy a quiet pint
he tries to engage me in his rants
for he is certain there exists
some kind of anglo-saxon lost link directly
to my heritage

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Party ’till We Drop by P.A.Levy

I am not a silent poet

a jack –
we had
with that
dumb –
over the
sleeping –
lazy –
doing nuffin’
spinning –
right round
right round
catherine –
drunk on bottle
an ordeal
shelia –
it all happen
the end
of the world
with the dancing
wendy –
frequented by
all and all and all and all

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Next by P.A.Levy

I am not a silent poet

The dog-eared hospital waiting
area, patiently, slowly
filled up with suspicions of not knowing
whittled out of the very fibres and cells
of appointment cards.

So we wait.  On fractured chairs
in a disinfected air, an illness-
green colour scheme reflects
the pallor of our despondency in
solicitude.  Nurses hastily propel
themselves on clockwork adrenaline.
The friction of their uniforms
a shuffling deck of cards to be dealt.

Still we wait.  Poker faced, wondering
if the chips are down.
Drowning in an ultrasound hubbub
of conversations, not thinking of oxygen
but breathing.  One eye on the wall clock,
the other scanning the receptionist.
Time taking the pulse of the N.H.S.,
waiting for a name to be pronounced.

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Advance on the Side of Right by P. A. Levy

I am not a silent poet

the collective guilt
by the study of maps
buries under brushes over
follows orders
to trample
children of the rubble
into dust
to dust
say amen to a victory


Born East London but now residing amongst the hedge mumblers of rural Suffolk, P.A.Levy has been published in many magazines, from ‘A cappella Zoo’ to ‘Zygote In My Coffee’ and stations in-between.  He is also a founding member of the Clueless Collective and can be found loitering on page corners and wearing hoodies at www.cluelesscollective.co.uk

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The Writers’ Cafe Magazine – ISSUE 5 “Love & Music”

Good to be here in such company! Thanks, Marie!

The Writers' Cafe Magazine


by Julia Webb

Brother zoom-zooms in on the back of the moon with his buzz-cut
hair and eyeball bulge and the pound-pound bass and the knock-
knock door and friends troop up-down up-down and the fridge
door open-shut open-shut and beer cans on window ledge balance
and bare legs swing-swing on the flat lounge roof and he say hiss-
hiss go away sis this is big man stuff and smoke leak-leaks from his
nose and laughing swell-swells and spills out of his room along the
landing and oh the boom-boom how it shakes the house and the
bang-bang neighbour at the door and Mum’s car in the drive and
suddenly suddenly hush-hush quiet.

Previously published in High Window

what heart does
by Julia Webb

heart is a small engine of desire
that resides in the chest

love is a slippery eel of a thing
rarely seen and difficult to…

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