Daily Archives: July 31, 2019

Two poems by Bojana Stojcic

I am not a silent poet

CORRIDA DE TOROS

An adrenaline-seeking town dressed in red and white
runs down the cobblestone streets like a hungry river

in the fierce heat of the Mediterranean sun
enraged bulls show no mercy

to those who slip and fall
who slip and fall

a ruthless wolf pack in San Fermin
with days passing between feedings

locates, singles out
and stalks

its prey from a distance
staying out of sight until it’s ready to attack

not a deer, not a moose
not a bison, not an elk

but a beaver, feeble and sightless,
breathing the air of placid sufficiency

opportunistic feeders, unable to retain saliva
within their mouths, circle and test before

bringing the victim to the ground
the conquest of paradise

the animal does not die of blood loss or shock
but of shame

PARENTAL ADVICE

finish school
find a decent girl/boy from a nice family
you’ll marry and have…

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Cossetted, by Angi Holden

I am not a silent poet

At school, everyone stretched upwards, ambition
a pair of silent claws. These boys all knew one another,
fraternised in the holidays, took one another’s sisters
to parties in Sussex, to hunt balls in Gloucestershire,
dressed like their fathers.

The boys who inherited the school like an old watch
didn’t have to use their brains, even if they had them.
What security: to have always been well-off.
The future would look comfortingly like the past.

Scholarship boys had to live on their wits, set apart,
herded, marked off, their world a social laboratory,
clever animals in an alien habitat. Their labour of inclusion,
like a journey of immigration, was a matter of barely visible laws:
certain areas of London, prep schools, London shops
certain sports, clothes, brands of aftershave,
distinguished surnames: all signified.

If they were posh, scholars were interestingly so,
came from bohemian and eccentric families,
like Boris, a familiar…

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Four poems by Z D Dicks

I am not a silent poet

Diogenes
..
In the centre of the city     at the cross
is a man     Diogenes     suited and booted
he rifles     through a bomb proof bin
..
He pulls out an arm     with a half squashed
sandwich     a bite mark at corner     and waves it
at a thick     lipsticked woman     on stilt heels
and twists crust     points it like judges finger

Men don’t think about sex     every ten
seconds     they think where’s my socks
where’s my lunch     and I’m late for work

An office lady     staring at him     scrunches the paint
on her face     leaving mud banks     at corners
of eyes     she veers away     from the soggy
lettuce     and floppy bread     tumbling like a clown

Do you mind     I’m on my lunch break
hold my calls!

Diogenes smears mayonnaise…

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