Annual Review

Today we put current news on hold in order to publish a Review of the Year which has been assembled by one of our most loyal and regular contributors, Antony Baverstock. Thank you, Antony. We would like to wish you and all our readers a happy and prosperous 2013.

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

My name was Amanda Todd

In 7th grade
     I would go with friends
          on webcam
got called stunning,
     beautiful,
          perfect
Then
     wanted me to flash...
          So I did....

Im stuck...
     whats left of me now...
          nothing stops
The girl and 2 others just said
     look around
          nobody likes you.
A guy than yelled
     just punch her already
          So she did..

Kids filmed it.
     I was all alone
          and left on the ground.
was on facebook –
     She deserved it,
          did you wash the mud out of your hair?
I felt like a joke in this world...
     I thought
          nobody deserves this :/

All from my past..
     lifes never getting better..
          cant go to school
meet or be with people...
     constantly cutting.
          Im really depressed.
I have nobody
     I need someone
          my name is Amanda Todd....

© Anthony Baverstock

Author's note: I pondered for quite a while over whether or not to tidy up Amanda’s spelling and grammar. Finding the case for each option equally strong, I decided in the end to leave her text exactly as she wrote it.

Amanda Todd: Memorial for teenage cyberbullying victim

FULL VIDEO: Amanda Todd: Struggling, Bullying, Suicide, Self Harm, Fighting 

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.  

Felix in Free Fall

The Man Who Fell to Earth

We have been falling all our lives.
When we first learn to walk
Our parents cheer the walking but for us
The suddenness of falling is the prize.

We earn degrees in falling
Learn to dredge success from every fault
We are the much-praised generation
We know the power in the fall.

We fall into everything
Falling forward into steep-climb futures
Falling backwards when emotion pushes
When memory drags us down.

The years are falling from us
Thoughts we clung to are so many leaves
Our lives are autumn and the branches
Sketch their meaning on a purple sky.

Not long ago we saw the people falling
Turning from the firewall at their backs
Tonight a man stands up, a resurrection
After the farthest fall from the highest point.

©  Helena Nolan

Skydiver Felix Baumgartner breaks sound barrier

Helena's work has appeared in anthologies and literary magazines including; The Stinging Fly, The Moth, and the Spoken Ink audio website. She is the 2011 winner of the Patrick Kavanagh Award.


Grounded

Strato-stupendulous,
Austrian Baumgarten,
spinning and thinking of
strawberry jam;

falling from space like an
extraterrestrial,
home to a hug and a
smack from his mam.

© Anthony Baverstock

Skydiver Felix Baumgartner's out-of-control spin

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty. 

Warrior Poet

Stay, listen, friend...
feel the age-old rhythms stir desert sand,
hear poets past whisper bygone praise of tribe, lord and land.
There rest our forefathers, brave deeds writ in more blood than ink,
proud men who built cities, wrought rich cultures, worked, loved and planned.

I too have loved, loved and lost, felt ache in heart, gut and loins,
penned ghazals ’neath starry skies, eyes fiery, hair clenched in hand.
That boy is now dead. The fool chased dreams across shers in vain:
no dream endures light of day; few truths can youth’s hopes withstand.

Head hung I cried hearing gunshots crack as men screamed and fell.
No metred foot stops a jackboot; more than words, times demand.
That day I picked up a gun, though never laid down my pen;
long roads I now trek to fight, hide, write for dear motherland.

Sunrise to sunset I kill; sunset to sunrise I write,
seek solace dark nights in verse, fete men and bold rebel band,
chant praise for lost brothers’ brave deeds writ in more blood than ink,
sing songs of hope, justice, peace. Home. Rights that free men command.

Daybreak.
We pray.
Sipping hot sweet tea we plan, check our guns,
eyes fiery, ride out on flatbed trucks through wild hinterland.
God willing, none die today; God willing, no mother grieves.
Know though, if death finds me, I, Abu Azzam, made a stand.

© Anthony Baverstock

Author's note: I wrote ‘Warrior Poet’ as a qadisa, the pre-Islamic Arabic narrative form introduced to English by Tennyson in his poem about a soldier’s memories, ‘Locksley Hall’. I’ve followed the classic qasida pattern (as far as I understand it) though in a more condensed manner than usual:

1) Evocation of the past
2) Tale of love and loss
3) Story of a journey
4) Call for deeds to be well-remembered

Syrian rebel commander finds solace in poetry

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty. 

After the typhoon

© Anthony Baverstock

Chinese ships enter Japanese waters over island dispute 
 
Tracking Typhoons, and other tropical systems in the Western north Pacific

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

Farewell Mr Spaceman

Belewe moon (The betrayer)

Is it false to visit twice in one month,
or be the first, once in a lifetime?
Footsteps and memories are all that seem to remain.

You stood there, flew by and back in humility.
Your old friend the moon will be blue today;
hoping that you're once more in tranquillity.

Now you’ve finally returned to where you belong.
Did it really happen all that long time ago?

RIP Neil Alden Armstrong.

© AiJ

Once in a Blue Moon: Second Full Moon of Month Is Friday

AiJ lives and writes in the beautiful Cheshire countyside. Having read at venues across the North West over the past two years, AiJ is now attempting to get work published.

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in memoriam, Neil Armstrong

Hey diddle diddle,
The man on the Eagle
Apollo shot up at the Moon.
A half pizza-pie
In a star-spangled sky,
And a wink in the gathering gloom.

© Anthony Baverstock

Statement from the Family of Neil Armstrong

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

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A conspiracy theorist comments on reports of the death of Neil Armstrong

No need to mourn the moon man, folks:
it's just another NASA hoax.

© Gwen Seabourne

Neil Armstrong obituary

Gwen Seabourne is an academic specialising in medieval legal history, who has also published poems and stories in magazines and books, and on the radio, and has read at events including the Bristol International Poetry Festival.

You love me you say

You love me you say, as in silent pain
I cower beneath the knuckles of your caring fist
and stare up, defenceless.
                                      You stop your hand
just inches from my cheek, indecisive,
and bending over me, your breath a caress,
say it’s for my own good, and start again
to bruise my skin, and burst my lip,
and break my jaw.
                            And through blackened eyes
I gaze at your face, feel your passion,
and take your abuse, this token of your love,
for I so dearly love you, more deeply than you know.
And I forgive you as always.

© Anthony Baverstock

Can you tell who it is yet?

Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

Burmese Dawn

© Anthony Baverstock

159 Observers to Monitor Burma Election
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

You, who stand dying

© Anthony Baverstock

Lone pines symbolise Japan hopes
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

Happy 1st Birthday, Poetry24!

Ballad of the Barefoot Bandit

They say he hails from westward way,
A bonny bandit he,
Who hops and skips across the land
As free as free can be.

It’s said by some he’s seven feet,
And others six-foot-five,
But all agree the Bandit boasts
The cleanest heels alive.

He wanders where he will along
The highways and the lanes,
And rides the scudding clouds above
The mountains and the plains.

He camps alone in wooded dells,
Is never ever seen;
A shoeless footprint in the soil,
The only hint he’s been.

He tends the orphaned animals,
The injured and the sick,
And only comes to town to seek
Supplies he wants to whip.

In Tennessee he took some milk,
In Maine an Oreo,
A blanket in Nebraska and
A bath in Idaho.

And when his work is done and all
The animals are good,
The Bandit slips away at night,
To find another wood.

But on the way he always pays
A visit to the vet,
Where any cash he has to spare
He puts upon the step.

*

The sour Sheriff Frazer sought
To end his antics, though,
And vowed to track the Bandit down
Wherever he may go.

So gravely, then, the Sheriff studied
Barefoot’s family tree,
To understand the hows and whys,
And where and when he’d be.
He found him in New Hampshire on
A frosty winter’s day,
But Barefoot took uncharted trails,
And made a getaway,

From whence our Bonny Bandit blithely
Traveled down the coast,
And o’er the sea to paradise,
Elusive as a ghost.

And yet, the wily Sheriff, as
An older, wiser man,
Had climbed inside the Bandit’s mind,
And dreamed as young’uns can;

And so it was one golden dawn,
While lounging by a bay,
The Bandit saw the Sheriff’s shadow
Pounce upon his prey . . .

*

It’s said the Sheriff tossed the Bandit
Down a dungeon deep,
To pine away for light of day,
And grass beneath his feet.

But that ain’t so, as children know,
Cos sometimes sheriffs lie,
And that’s what Sheriff Frazer did,
And here’s the reason why:

The Bandit nimbly leapt aside,
And on a bobbing boat,
And where the Bandit’s butt had been,
The Sheriff saw a note,

And on the note were scrawled the words,
I’ll c’ya! Got to run!
The Sheriff scowled, the Bandit bowed,
And sailed toward the sun.

With that, the Bandit disappeared,
To where, I couldn’t say,
And not a single soul can tell
You where he lives today.

And that is why when mothers cry,
“D’you steal the cookies, son?”
A boy can hold her stare and say,
“The Bandit must’ve done!”

And, “Missy, where’s your homework?”
“Sir, I had it – did me best!
Perhaps the Bandit ripped it up,
To line a sparrow’s nest.”

It’s also why my crafty gran
Can wink and say, “Beware!
The Bandit takes a kid who fibs,
To feed a hungry bear!”

© Anthony Baverstock

Barefoot Bandit Colton Harris-Moore sentenced again

Author's note: "I am intrigued by how people like Harris-Moore become folk heroes with 60,000 followers on Facebook, and how their exploits assume legendary proportions, even mythic status. And as Harris-Moore has been compared to Robin Hood (not to mention Jesse James, and even John Dillinger), the traditional narrative ballad seemed the best choice of form for my own little bit of myth-making about him. "
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

Poetry24 Review of the Year 2011

Clare and I would like to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who has helped to establish Poetry24 as a place where poets can express their thoughts and feelings about what's happening in the world around them.

Since our launch, in February, we've been able to publish, pretty much, on a daily basis. This would have been impossible without the poets among you. Equally, the poet's work needs to be read, and that's why we appreciate you, our visitors, and your valuable comments.

We owe a further debt of gratitude to Anthony Baverstock, who took the time and trouble to create this video. So, please take a few minutes to enjoy Poetry24's Review of the Year 2011.

We aim to be publishing again on 28th December, so do keep the poems coming. In the meantime, have a very Happy Christmas!

The Exorcism

"Depart, impious foe! I spit upon your face.
Release this child of God, or taste the acid kiss.
The Lord Himself commands, so drink and stay your vice.
Why brazenly refuse, and gag and claw and toss?
Resist, and suffer more: – despair the nail's caress,
and tremble, demon, fear: – bewail the hammer's force.
For you the fire awaits, as through the skull I pierce.
I cast you out – begone!
                                     At last, the ravings cease."

And Pastor counts the cash while Hellish hosts rejoice.

© Anthony Baverstock

Child witches in the Congo

Author's note: As isolated cases these would be harrowing enough, but it is horrifying to think that they are simply instances of an increasingly prevalent phenomenon, and that while children in North America and Britain dress up as witches to play trick-or-treat, many in Africa are branded as such for real with dire consequences.
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

A Capitalist Christmas Song

Author's note: Sung, of course, to the tune of ‘Deck the Halls . . .’

Hail! The annual bourgeois spendfest!
– ching-a-ching-a-ching, the cash tills ring –
Time to bloat your children’s toy chest!
– ching-a-ching-a-ching, the cash tills sing –

Hark! You’ll hear now
Christmas ditties;
– jing-a-ling, have a sing, while you shop –
In the mood for
yuletide pretties?
– jing-a-ling-a-ling, so buy the lot –


Hit the mall and grab a trolley!
– ching-a-ching-a-ching, you’re welcome in –
Tis the time to spend your lolly!
– ching-a-ching-a-ching, see Santa grin –

A.T.M. won’t
give more cash out?
– boo-hoo-hoo! What to do? Tell you what . . . –
Punch your pin and
max your card out!
– ching-a-ching-a-ching, we’ll take the lot –


Hear the Sally Army playing.
– boom-de-rum-te-bum, de-dum-crash-tum! –
“Pennies for the poor,” they’re saying.
– boom-a-bang-a-thrum, de-too-tle-tum! –

Salve your conscience
with some copper
– rat-a-tat, look at that, fifty p! –
But spend your pounds in here, dear shopper!
ching-a-ching-a-ching
Thank God we’re free!

© Anthony Baverstock

Holidays Arrive Early With The "Christmas ...
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

Talisman

© Anthony Baverstock

Author's note: As talismans like this were believed to prevent and cure disease, I thought this form would be an appropriate one in which to construct a kind of acrostic-cum-pattern poem about human ingenuity and endeavour in the current fight against HIV-AIDS. 

Online gamers crack AIDS enzyme puzzle
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

We didn’t start the pie fight

1 – 9 – 7 – 0h,
over forty years ago,
Thomas Forcade threw a pie,
walloped Otto, porno guy.

Shortly after, Aron Kay
splattered Bryant, anti-gay,
Andy Warhol,
Captain Kirk –
pieing in the sky.

‘Save the planet’ Keith was smacked,
‘Stuff the planet’ Clarkson, whacked;
pies are flying left and right,
off the planet, David Icke.

Charlie Colson, Watergate;
Calvin Klein, but by mistake;
Carl XVI, the Swedish king;
Jeffrey Skilling (meant for him).

    We didn’t start the pie fight,
       but you’ll know you’re busted
      when you taste the custard.
    We didn’t start the pie fight –
      Well, perhaps we mighta,
      just to spite you blighter.

Bernard-Henri Lévy thought
thinking men should not be caught;
Horowitz was not amused,
similarly disabused.

David Shayler, British spy,
custard in his prying eye;
Movie-maker Godard laughed,
pie’s arrest defused.

Milton Friedman paid the price;
Emma Thompson: “Very nice.”
Rambo took it like a man;
Mocha pie for Moynihan.

One Canuck against G.M.
pied the P.M., Chrétien;
William Henry Gates the Third,
facial-creamed in Belgium.

    Whee! Did you see the pie fly?
      Don’t behave too snobby,
      or become too cocky.
    Whee! When you see the pie fly,
      better grin and bear it,
      cos you’re gonna wear it.

Guru Maharaj Ji’s god –
Why not stop the flying glob?
Was it written in the stars?
Ditto Father Léonard’s.

Parizeau and Péladeau,
Pettigrew and Duchesneau
Yankee’s fielder Swisher twice,
thrice is on the cards.

Widdecombe and Mandelson;
Messianic Vorilhon;
Comic artist Tommy Yune;
Politician Pim Fortuyn.

Clair Short. Allan Rock.
Willie Brown. Murdoch.
World Bank Wolfenson.
Still the list goes on and on . . .

    Who’s gonna stop the pie fight?
      Everybody in it’s
      clearly out to win it.
    Who doesn’t love a pie fight,
      a bit of hue and cry
      and seeing custard fly and fly and fly . . . ?

© Anthony Baverstock


Phone hacking: Man charged over Murdoch pie protest
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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, reputed home of Humpty-Dumpty.

Saturday Challenge

Rising Tide

The bully built a castle, little castle made of sand,
And he built it on the seashore where the water laps the land.
How the children of the village cheer, a mighty awesome din,
As his castle walls are flattened by the tide a-rolling in.

© Anthony Baverstock

Where the Arab spring will end is anyone's guess

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Anthony Baverstock is from Colchester, home of Humpty-Dumpty, which might help explain his curiosity about nursery rhymes.
Anthony says: I've started to become interested in how nursery rhymes throughout history have been used to encode and convey news and opinion. It is in this 'tradition' that I wrote the rhyme below about the Arab Spring

Saturday Challenge

We'll be setting the occasional Saturday Challenge, and for this first one, we'd like you to send us a new nursery rhyme on a topical theme. Entries must be sent in (to the email addresses in the submission guide above) by noon (GMT) next Friday 24th June. We'll publish the best and the winner will receive a copy of 'Off the Wall Comic Verse Anthology'.