If your head must be cut from your shoulders

Peace Poet Antony Owen

art beautiful bloom blooming Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

After Israa al-Ghomgham 


I recall the solitary scarlet flower I took apart as a child

standing out from a gilded vase of flowers boasting their erect penises.

I recall ripping off its head and a red fragrant spray waxing my fingers.

Standing in the crime scene accused I blamed it on my brother.

I vividly remember how a snail left a silver road to where it rested in peace,

it was in my nature to interrupt that calmness and end its life with my shoe.

I recall the gold of its guts and the sound of an insignificant thunder,

that night I felt so bad that I watched them in the rain drag home to burials.

As a boy, I remember having no interest in the colours and meanings of flags,

except for one in blue-collars who hoisted me up to the proud…

View original post 111 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.