Thursday, 28 February 2019

Funhouse

Welcome to the funhouse!

Here is our first exhibit:

two lists of names of almost

identical length. We call this

a Decisive Referendum Victory.

In here, please; you will see

a scatter of green benches, a few

elderly persons sleeping. This is

the place where all our laws are scrutinised;

the Upper Chamber of Parliament.

We won’t show you the Lower Chamber;

you can hear from outside

that the noise is far too bestial,

the level of language too primitive -

it’s Prime Minister’s Question Time.

These gleaming towers along the river

are the homes of bankers, a race

or people who love to steal your money

but cannot be prevented because

they are so rich and well-protected.

Here there are knives and blood

and people crying out in pain and despair,

some in beds, some in uniforms -

no no, it is not a torture chamber,

it is the National Health Service.

See that jolly policeman? Oh dear,

he has knocked a boy down by accident

and the boy has turned quite black

with regret at all the trouble

he is causing. Please don’t stare.

Please please: don’t stare.

Theresa May offers MPs Brexit delay vote

David is a poet and critic, and has published many poems before in, for example, PN Review, Encounter, The Rialto and elsewhere. I have also published six poetry pamphlets. My blog is davidpunter.wordpress.com

Brexitum ad infinitum

Oh, will it neverendum

This son of referendum

Unfurling discontentum

‘Cross Party Conservatorium

- So lacking in disciplinarian

And good old-fashioned decorum?

Can’t someone please just send ‘em

To the EU’s viginti Septem

To get an agreed addendum,

Expunge each corrigendum

And make a new tenendum,

Not to mention definiendum,

To end this irksome conundrum

That’s caused such great opprobrium

And large intakes of (inter alia) opium,

And create a new agendum

That all can fain credendum,

And bring a pleasing endum

To this Brexit pandaemonium?

© David Ellis

Brexit: All you need to know about the UK leaving the EU

What The Hell Is Going On With Brexit? A Bluffer's Guide To This Week In Parliament

David is a retired English language lecturer and writer of short stories and poems, living precariously close to the fast-receding sand dunes of Merseyside.

Wednesday, 27 February 2019

jihadi bride

because it was war

and she a child perplexed

by the suffocations of home

groomed betrothed and taken up

as a bride of the prophet

to be the advance reward

of the martyr’s promise

for martyrdom for sacrifice

for men made from boys

because it was war

because it was holy

and she a blessing in disguise

she bore witness to horror

and bore children

from death into death

because it was holy

because of faith

in the face of infidelity

and the profanity of unbelievers

for faith denied and faith abandoned

retribution plunged its blade

munitions exploded

blood was let

because of faith

because the blade

that cuts one heart

cuts all hearts

the child soldier and his doxy bride

all the collateral flesh and bone

every by-stander and every innocent

cut down in crossfires

enemies in name only

beheaded into waste-bins

summarily executed

blood on the sand

sand in the blood

water tears and weeping

witness made blind

because the blade

because she regrets

a child with child corpses

to remember for her sins

she remembers home but home

forgets the child she was

will not even prosecute

her juvenile delinquency

death to the infidel

she is dispossessed

because she regrets

Shamima Begum says she regrets publicising desire to return to UK

Brian has been 50 years a poet. One-time designer and film-maker; long ago, the rhyme-slinger, cartoon cowboy, and planetarium poet; now feverishly stringing words together in the hope of making sense.

To the rescue

We often hear of fat cats
but rarely of chubby rats.
Yesterday one of these
who was quite obese
while out on a stroll
got stuck in a manhole.
After hearing him shout
helpers pulled him out.

Fat rat saved from manhole by German animal rescue

Weighed in the Balance

I am expected to hate you, Shamima,
though in truth, I don’t.
Only four letters
but it’s a big word:
HATE.
Keyboard warriors shout it in capital letters,
tapping out one-fingered rants of detestation,
sticking it to the populist dissidents
who dare to rebel against the social-media throng.
Self-opinionated, seething condemnation,
spewed with passion that threatens and warns:
there is no room for disagreement here.
It’s all her own fault, of course.
She made her bed now she can lie in it.
She knew what she was doing.
Age is no excuse
(because 15 year-old girls always make sensible decisions!).
She’s a terrorist without remorse.
She’s a danger,
she’s evil
she deserves everything she gets.
Her brown eyes and brown skin betray her:
she’s a Muslim,
never really British (only like it or not, she was!).
She was legally a child,
radicalised, incited to hatred
must we match hate for hate?
She cradles a new-born in her arms
(the sins of the mother are borne in the son?).
She’s a politicians distraction from Brexit obsession.
Whatever happened to due-process?
To fair, balanced, judgements?
Do we no longer listen to testimony,
weigh evidence in the scales of Lady Justice
then pronounce sentence,
match punishment to the crime?
Maybe it is us that is on trial now,
our standards,
our values,
our British-ness, even,
hanging in the balance?
We don’t judge and convict in the pages of the Daily Mail
(except, sometimes we do!)
Rehabilitation, redemption, compassion,
truth, justice . . . hate.
What weigh will the scales tip?
Perhaps we have more to lose than to gain
in this game of blame and shame?

© Gifford Savage

Shamima Begum citizenship decision sets a dangerous precedent

Gifford is from Bangor, Northern Ireland, has had work published with Lagan Online, was short-listed for the Bangor Poetry Competition 2018 and has read at events throughout Northern Ireland.

Tuesday, 26 February 2019

The kiss, VJ Day

It’s black and white. It’s anything but.

First I just see her, motion arrested,

back foot poised in a delicate tap

as he swarms over her.

So far everything’s conventional

but then I see the jut

of his elbow at her neck,

the unnatural

twist back of his wrist -

*he’s locking her in*

we think he’s kissing her lips,

the angle’s deceptive,

surely she’s twisting away?

He’s over her like Nosferatu,

he’s almost drinking from her neck

he’s so insistent.

Sure he looks cool with his brow,

his quiff, his stiff sailor’s hat,

a hint of jimmy dean yet to come,

what a guy,

but he’s too big on her screen,

the ultra close-up she’s not ready for,

staggers back from.

Sure it’s a bit of fun. Why make

heavy weather? He’s just trying it on,

and what red-blooded man wouldn’t,

on this day? The atomic bomb of his joy

has to go off somewhere, why not here

in this controlled detonation?

She’s the prize he deserves,

his fruits of victory,

just like it’s been in every war

from Troy to today.

Every war ends

with men taking women,

claiming the prize she.

It’s everything that’s right,

it’s everything that’s wrong.

The guys are laughing,

inwardly applauding.

Wish we’d had the guts.

It’s just a captured minute,

out of so many.

Nothing to see here, move along.

Sailor Who Kissed Woman in Iconic Times Square V-J Day Photo Dies at 95

V-J Day in Times Square

Adrian Salmon lives in Bingley, West Yorkshire. His poetry has appeared on Algebra of Owls, i am not a silent poet, and Ink, Sweat and Tears.

In the confessional

Forgive me Father

for I have sinned.

Sexual predators
think the solution
to their problem
is a confession;
if they unburden
themselves of sin
to their confessor
they'll get absolution
and know very well
he will never tell.

Especially since
news has emerged
that makes us wince:
some clergymen too
have been known
to transgress
though they believe
there isn't any need
for them to confess.

Cardinal Pell guilty of sex offences

Monday, 25 February 2019

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - The Little Brown Rat

The Little Brown Rat

It is about time we all had a good chat

About what happened to the little brown rat.

Some people blamed the European cat

For the disappearance of the little brown rat,

But it was not the European cat

That did for the little brown rat.

It was climate change that did begat

The extinction of the little brown rat.

So politician and technocrat

Remember please the little brown rat.

As you stare at the rising thermostat

Seas rise like they did for the little brown rat.

Climate change is a fact.

Please remember the little brown rat.

Bramble Cay melomys: Climate change-ravaged rodent listed as extinct

Phil is poet from Neath in South Wales. His poetry collection 'You Are Welcome To Wales"was published in 2015 by The Red Poets.

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - Desert

Desert

rats desert a desert planet
desert creeps into the grasslands
creeps up to the doors of cliff high houses
up river beds backpackers wander new trails
river lips crack like crazed fields
lips craving drooling streams and water falling
craving around shrinking parch-towns
around desert island city wind roads
desert rats even desert a drying planet

S. O. Fasrus

Trump administration to create panel to deny climate change facts almost all scientists agree on

S.O. Fasrus is a Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

POEMS OR THE PLANET - The Last Word in Recycling 2030

The Last Word in Recycling 2030

Why rot expensively, be a burden?
My beloved—he’d really thought it through.
Made it the focus of his end of life.
Why not give his family cause to party?
Celebrate the manner of his passing
on the anniversary of his death.
His last voyage a page in family history.

No euphemisms here. Do as the ancients
have before.
The Zarathrustrans with their Dakhmas
those poles with wicker baskets on the top
vultures wheeling.
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes
on Ilkley Moor they gave the worms a feast

We've always done it.
We’ve all seen the films.
Heartrending shots of famished polar bears. Walrus struggling
to find a patch of ice to safely plant their pups.

These days they run convoys
a last drink here, roast cod or king crab there.
The ultimate in altruism.
Wrap up warm. It’s cold up here—so far north.
But no Kevlar please or man-made fleece,
Just good, old-fashioned wool. And alcohol.

His living will in black and white.
No God's Waiting Room for him
No hushed voices as he breathes his last.

And now of course, the story’s old, and
no one these days thinks it odd
to book their trip when their time is near
go to Svalbard with their near and dear,
be eaten by a starving polar bear.

© Rosie Barrett

Polar bear ‘invasion’: how climate change is making human-wildlife conflicts worse

Rosie Barrett has lived in South Devon for over 30 years and cherishes family and watery views. She’s been published in anthologies and magazines. She’s working on her first collection.

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - What can I do? (One and a half degrees)

What can I do? (One and a half degrees)

Throwing away a plastic carton

On a train, not taking it home to wash

And recycle;

It's grubby and will get over my bag,

Like the paper coffee cup

I took home once and decided

That was not a good idea.

When I click the order button

On the online clothing forum

I try not to think of the person who made it;

In a factory in China

Where workers sleep on the premises

Or in India, where factory effluent

Seeps into the rivers,

After seeing the gallons of water

Used to make cotton

I don't want to buy it-do I check all my labels.

I can't as a rule, afford organic;

I've discovered the market

For seasonal veg-

Who needs strawberries in January?

We aren't driving, anymore

Our flying footprint is very low

Is it enough?

Making steps forwards and backwards,

Perhaps better than just backwards-

Big, guzzling consumers devouring the planet;

Climate change deniers

During the big freeze Trump asked for global warming-

He has it now, for the next ten years;

Warmer temps shifting up the

Thermometer pole

To be aware

Is not much to ask.

Climate change: World heading for warmest decade, says Met Office

Amanda joined a Creative Writing class, following a breakdown, which played a significant role in her recovery. She now embeds literacy skills into classes that she teaches.

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - Eschaton

Eschaton

The truth of it:

these are the end of days

unbiblical and profane.

Blind fools have taken

too much of everything

and bled an entire world dry.

No-one cries ‘Stop!’,

no-one can agree when or how;

dominion over the earth:

a fat lot of good.

Power but no shred of respect:

air, land or sea, whatever was in them

ours, anything, we held, possible,

because of who we were.

Time, though infinite,

is still running out, no longer a technicality

contained in the mainsprings of old-world clocks

nor the digital drip of it, slow and steady,

on our heads like ancient water torture.

We’re fucked, if no-one has the courage

to read the signals beaming at us across this bead of rock

as it spins around the sun, on its ravaged way, nowhere special,

as insignificant as every other smudge of dust.

We are squabbling brutes of bone and meat

who swagger and huff; huddled masses with arrant lunatics

who lord it over us, who eye the marks they make on history,

never see the scars, whose hearts are set on glory

never on how the weary world turns and we are squealing vermin,

their glorious red carpet, dyed with our bloodstains and sorrow.

So, I said, suit yourself, dress up in fine clothes, look smart,

parade and prosper, limo yourselves away to condominiums,

to compounds where your illusions are still as safe as money;

trap us with your conspiracy politics, your sham of freedom.

And still I stand up and say, conjugate the verb ‘to fuck’,

it’s past participle, it’s metaphorical sense;

to hell with literal, too late for that:

I am, you are, he, she or it, (oh, shit) is,

we are, you are, they are,

fucked…

© Brian Hill

The fierce urgency of climate change

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - Environment (An acrostic poem)

Environment (An acrostic poem)

Environment to us is very important.
Now that pollution is more rampant
Vegetation is harmed by acid rain,
Icebergs melt and flood the plain,
Roots of trees weaken and decline.
Ozone depletion is not at all benign
Nor is the increase of carbon dioxide.
Mountains and islands may subside
Every time a seaquake fractures
Nuclear power stations’ structures.
Too many though don’t get the picture.

Donald Trump makes top Republican fear environmental future

Luigi has published three collections of poems: ‘Idle Thoughts’, ’Reflections’ and ‘Poetry On Tap’. His work has been featured in ABCTales’ magazines, UKAuthors’ anthologies, Poetry24 and several other publications.

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - Changing Places

Changing Places

“A change is

as good as a rest”

they say-

a one click ticket to paradise

“ohhhh sooo verrry nice”-

a change of scene

a break

with the routine-

a dreams DO come true trip

going for a snip

of the price-

“a slice of real life”

five star

or four,

forget the wolf

at the door

for one week

or two

until there are none-

no wolves

no bears

no foxes

no hares

but

meanwhile in paradise

who really cares?

IN PICS: Eight of Spain's most endangered species - The Local

The story of César, an imperial eagle released back into Madrid’s skies

Bex, frustrated with the data driven education system, left her teaching job behind and is still wondering what to do next. Writing poetry helps her to try and make sense of the world, as well as giving her the chance to rant a bit!

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - The Children of Sirius

The Children of Sirius

Our world is warming,

Weeping glaciers,

Into burning seas.

Witnesses to our Genesis:

Our brethren whales, flee,

Charting colder waters.

Our origins of creation in whale-songs,

Beginning with volcanoes,

We shall be Navigators again.

Our golden myths and legends,

Sink in rising warning tides,

Under the light of Sirius.

Clues sought for decline in Hawaii humpback whale sightings

James is a poet, slam performer, writer and author of four poetry collections including "The Literary Party: Growing Up Gay and Amish in America" and most recently "Punatic" (Writing Knights Press).

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - Project Fear

Project Fear

A day filled with Friday life

a February blue sky

counting seventeen degrees of sun

absurdly sitting outside,

shining shoes reflecting rays

birds singing happily confused.

I fear the shrubs will bud

and be lost in next week’s frost.

I fear this may Be It,

an early Spring lends to Summer,

March will bring a heatwave,

April May a drought.

By August we’ll have wilted

unable to brush off flies,

the lawn withered and died.

The sea will be upon us,

lapping at the fields

all of Brussels flooded

waste tangled in the trees.

There will be no streets

for the young to march upon

The rich will move back up the hills,

the poor fighting for a home

thirsty and destroyed.

And we will remember

our discomforting pleasure

on this warm winter day

shining shoes outside.

Emma is a social activist and poet living in the Belgian countryside with her family and many animals.

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - HOPEless

HOPEless

I’ve lost what little hope I had

in the entire human race,

and see a desperate future

writ large upon its face.

We’ve reached a certain point

upon the arc of evolution,

where progress made along the way

is enveloped in pollution.

We’ve done the damage,

like as not,

and our inner urge

to improve our lot

is balanced by

the innate rot

that spreads through every nation.

My oldest child

of fourteen years

sums up my

unintended fears,

asking why

he sees and hears

the nightly news reports.

I find it hard

to answer him,

to answer why

the picture’s grim

and hopes of rescue

seem so slim,

as my vision so distorts.

The earth will carry on and turn,

and continue on its course,

species still will rise and fall

and we will just endorse

the selfishness of

modern man,

doing what the hell we want,

believing that we can.

We started out

with cold stone tools,

and because we are

such stone-cold fools

we’ll end up

where the savage rules,

right where we began.

© Andrew Goodison

Climate change strike: Traffic outside Parliament at standstill as students take day off school to protest

Andrew Goodison is a single father of two, full time carer and full time poet, living in the West of Ireland.

POEMS FOR THE PLANET - ‘Our little brown rat’

‘Our little brown rat’

Ever heard of Melomys rubicola,

late of Bramble Cay? Ever heard, even,

of Bramble Cay?

Look it up.

Pretty name, don’t you think?

for a death-trap. This tiny scrap of sand

held together by grass

has hit the headlines

because

Melomys rubicola, a tiny rat

which lived only there

is now formally listed as

the first mammal to die out

through anthropogenic

climate change.

We did this.

Or rather, we did nothing.

Oh, there was a plan – there’s been a plan

for a decade now, to save

the Bramble Cay melomys –

but

the island is very small

the animal is very small

(and a rat, anyway)

and the wave that washed the last one

out to sea, possibly before 2014,

just an ordinary wave

far too small for surfing.

So no-one bothered.

Bramble Cay will probably be gone, too,

before long. A few years, and it will swoon

into the warm arms of the rising Pacific

with hardly a sigh.

How long before

we are all being drowned by inaction?

Bramble Cay melomys: Climate change-ravaged rodent listed as extinct

Mandy's latest published poems are about vegetables (Vaster than Empires, Grey Hen Press), sex (The Ramingo's Porch #4), and – most important of all – climate change (Multiverse, Shoreline of Infinity).

Sunday, 24 February 2019

No Place for Such A Preface

Addressing the Editor

of a newspaper as Sir
has caused offence
and created a stir
among some readers
who, with certitude,
have said the tradition
shows a sexist attitude;
that it is ridiculous
and also offensive.
The beleaguered man
didn't become defensive;
he wrote that although
he was not a feminist
from this hated practice
he would now desist.
He added other papers
had been educated
and agreed this anomaly
should be eradicated.
I don't want to comment
so I sit on the fence
and therefore I cannot
cause any offence.
I don't know about you
but we could employ
a simple address
by shouting: “Oi!”

Henley Standard newspaper letters page drops 'sexist' Sir

Luigi has published three collections of poems: ‘Idle Thoughts’, ’Reflections’ and ‘Poetry On Tap’. His work has been featured in ABCTales’ magazines, UKAuthors’ anthologies, Poetry24 and several other publications.

Asma al-Assad

Asma al-Assad

she's graceful and appealing
who knows what Asma's feeling
who knows what Asma's thinking
who knows what Asma knows

restrained, correct, alluring
who knows what she's enduring
who knows why Asma's staying
who knows what Asma knows

© S.O. Fasrus

The treatment of Shamima Begum and Asma Al-Assad reveals Britain’s double standards

Saturday, 23 February 2019

Anna Wintour's Wig?

Photo by S.O. Fasrus: London Fashion Week, after party, 19/02/2019

please do not stare or glare at Anna's hair
which doesn't change a bit from day to day
her big dark glasses such an assuring sight

high priestesses of fashion, know what's right
and Vogue's not Vogue without her, so they say
so do not stare or glare at Anna's hair

like Andy Warhol, wigs have served her right
though classic brunette, never bleached or grey
her big dark glasses such an assuring sight

our fashion leaders dare not look a fright
the head of Vogue, her image must not stray
so do not stare or glare at Anna's hair

stern-faced, there's Anna, Dame and leading light
at London Fashion Week, two seats away
her big dark glasses such an assuring sight

the Editor of Vogue just knows what's right
so turn a blind eye, seem to look away -
her big dark glasses such an assuring sight -
and please don't glare or stare at Anna's hair

© S.O. Fasrus

Harper Beckham and Anna Wintour had matching hair at London Fashion Week during Victoria's show

S.O. Fasrus is a Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.