Sunday 'Shorts'

A Stile of Leaks


There was a crooked man who had a crooked smile

who found a crooked partner filled with crooked wiles

they made a crooked pact to build their crooked scheme

and they both fibbed together: Brexit’s no crooked gleam.

© Lavinia Kumar

UK government tensions rise after leak of Johnson-Gove letter to May

Lavinia Kumar has a new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, it can be found on Amazon (US & UK).



Apocalypse Now

Alas, the end of the world is nigh.
Italian expectations were high
of qualification for the world cup
but it seems they were sold a pup.
It is apocalypse, said the headlines:
the azzurri will be on the sidelines
as the finals get under way in June.
The fans will sing a mournful tune
instead of a joyous, uplifting song;
the national anthem seems wrong.
Football fans blamed the coach
and he was not beyond reproach.
Everyone thinks that the solution
can only be achieved by revolution.

© Luigi Pagano

World Cup shock: Sweden beats Italy 1-0 on aggregate to dump four-time champs out of Russia 2018

Luigi Pagano 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.

Power of Eves

Pull a scarlet shawl

around your shoulders


Know you are important

wear that cow mask


Dodge the grabbing hand

the pull on your blouse


your dupatta

your bag


Protest a curfew

police baton charge


Avoid Holi crowds

hit the men groping


your buttock

your breast


Name it sexual assault

Name male bullies


Protest putrid police

Unite as stalwart women


march together

shoulder to shoulder

© Lavinia Kumar

India’s female students say ‘to hell with it, we won’t stand for molesting and Eve-teasing’

Lavinia Kumar has a new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, it can be found on Amazon (US & UK).

LIGO/Virgo

Follow the two eyes of the orange mask,

the wobble, near wink, warp,

deep sockets ready to suck up time,

collide as inner eye, mind's eye

to see beyond sight,

for enlightenment,

a hole so black

even seers feel ripples, waves

to a gravity beyond day or tide,

pulling, rippling, stretching, shrinking –

an energy of two united as one spirit

spinning far from time

the mask falling away to no trick,

but treat, dark as black cherry.

© Lavinia Kumar

New gravitational wave detection shows shape of ripples from black hole collision

Lavinia Kumar has a new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, it can be found on Amazon (US & UK).

1960s Immigrant to Boston

I. First

Off the boat.

Real houses made of wood.

Four feet of snow.

This is U.S. winter?

Need to use the John?

What to answer?

(My brother John just dropped me off.)

Five dollars a week to clean, cook,

babysit three kids.

Use only back door.

Part-time cashier at A&P.

Two large nickels equal one very small dime.

Oh you have an English accent.

Work to lose it.

Women on the T dress-up

thick make-up

poofy hair

but sneakers not shoes.

Also poor?

II. College First Months

No money, no car

can’t drive anyway

also on wrong side.

Irish and blacks run from police.

Yemenis run from their land

hide face in college coffee shops.

Beatles blare on the street.

Pro tennis at Longwood Cricket Club.

Jamaica Pond near Pill Hill.

Bailey’s ice cream, chocolate sauce.

Fenway path, keep going past Sears…

Ahhh, the Red Sox.

© Lavinia Kumar

Why the American ‘Dreamers’ programme needs to be saved

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org

Leaving Ireland for England, 1950s

Mother was taking us to where

she usually was.

People threw up.

Irish sea rough,

night dark ­­– hard

to know how to escape

mess on the deck

vile smells

crashing noise

confusion.

We, ten and eight,

knew rocky beaches,

the Sugar Loaf,

rides on donkey and cart,

boarding school.

We were leaving –

boat then train,

more trains.

In the end

not coming back.

© Lavinia Kumar

UK Home Office 'cannot be trusted', say EU citizens' rights groups

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org

Washington DC Hotel

Melt the $24 cigar in a pot

Take a selfie with candied bacon

Insist on US flag fly in your cocktail

Enjoy ketchup cups topped with whipped cream

            Saunter over to men stirring curry

See – that’s the white man in a white suit

And, oh, move the lollipop tree next to bleached teeth

Wind dental fluoride around Bible-thick steak

Widen your smile with a $150 cognac

            Run down a red, white, blue lapel pin with a gold saber

Stab a crystal with an autograph pen

Ensure salmon does not mix with stallion

Wipe a lubed hand on a blue velvet curtain

Be careful the cheese on your cheek does not melt

© Lavinia Kumar

Trump Hotel at Night: Lobbyists, Cabinet Members, $60 Steaks

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org

Goldfish are Not Allowed to Drive

The pond under ice

is not dead

waiting

for spring.

Goldfish are partying

drunk to the gills

bar wide open

genes full blast.

They laugh

at cold fisherman

hauling beer cans

over the ice

drunk as skunks

while fish

speed swim

high on drink.

© Lavinia Kumar

Fish sauced? Goldfish turn to alcohol to survive icy winters

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org

Upended in America

All Sales are Finally

Bannon cannons

to the dollar store

no Muslims at his counter

another stool lost a leg

to the Book of Kelly’s

illuminations

new White House Gospel

tied in decorative knots

of no more open house

no more divided mouths

no more lily white sails

in the fertile garden

of golden opportunity

c’mon

the sign’s in the cloud

the open gate

colors are rich

in our United States.

© Lavinia Kumar

Trump gets rid of Stephen Bannon, a top proponent of his nationalist agenda

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org.



Beautiful Walls And Statues

President Trump
tells me he is sad at the loss
of beautiful statues,
even though they are statues of people
who fought for slavery.

I remember too
how happy he was with his plan
for a beautiful wall,
a beautiful wall between the people
of next-door nations.

President Trump
is sad now, and just a little angry
there isn’t more beauty
with which to dazzle the people,
the people he so loves.

© David Bateman

Trump defends 'beautiful' Civil War statues

David Bateman’s most recent book, Shtum: The Stutter Poems (Iron Press, 2016), is available from Iron Press, Amazon and elsewhere. ‘punchy poems... told with wit and invention’ – The Crack Magazine.

Two Voices on Climate Change

Naming

I married long ago

Connell to Kumar

Adopted kitty Peyton

answers to Buddy

Oklahoma tornado

call it wind’s whim

Floods in Miami

moon’s caprice

Climate change

weather extreme

GOP human

puppet

© Lavinia Kumar

USDA Staff Were Coached Not to Say ‘Climate Change,’ Emails Show

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org.

What have we done?

Oh God, is this revenge for what we’ve done

for It appears that we have blocked the light

everything is grey, we’ve lost the sun,

each day thick clouds and rain from morn to night

The air seems thick, unpleasant to inhale,

it’s far too hot and smells of curious fumes

pervading everywhere - metallic, stale.

Some think it is the end of all that looms.

Then suddenly appearing comes the sun

and so for days temperatures soar,

no rain appears for weeks - this isn’t fun,

I’m thinking I can’t take it anymore.

Now rain appears again in such a quantity,

perhaps this is the new reality.

© Wendy Nicholson

Anger over 'untrue' climate change claims

Wendy Nicholson has previously contributed to Poetry24. She is at present a member of a Wells Poetry Group. Wendy is retired, having been a teacher, then research scientist.

Eggplant Revolution

I sing of purple Olympic escorts

who do not hide in secret hotel rooms

acting for pimps to service a la carte

London men with testosterone aplume.

I sing as they walk with winning athletes

to a podium while plum males simper

behind with medals, flowers, the gold treats

for superjocks, supergirls – they wonder

through required purple and gold make-up

how inequality is never over

in men of power and of lordly clubs

who think only of women as posers.

We all sing loud of gold won by women,

of broken glass clouds, of the shrinking male

potence, of daughters who keenly listen,

who will rail, who will ensure the end of such tales.

© Lavinia Kumar

Men will exclusively serve as medal and flower bearers in Olympics for first time

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

Gold Medal

Kofi Annan stepped into blood on streets,
slipped and slithered between army and rookie
fighters.  He held his head high inside a secure
circle of nations shooting spitballs across crushed
bones, empty i.v. lines, children’s bodies in linen,
all paraded on TV screens in spotless offices
where men rested, in fresh shirts, on soft chairs,
and moved chess pieces, snacked on fresh fruit.
But Kofi Annan did not rest, he flew to Moscow,
to Damascus, courted the Arab League, NATO,
sent in a team of blue helmeted observers, talked
nonstop with suits, heads in sand, minds blocked.
He gave his all as he passed by bronzed thrones,
silver dress swords, but only he was worthy of gold.

© Lavinia Kumar

Syria crisis: Annan's exit marks end of diplomatic track

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

“Just draw the sun on the wall”

jeered the prison guard, after our inmate
strike of twenty-two days for more sunlight.
Released after twelve, eighteen, twenty, thirty
years we stayed up all night to see sunrise,
and colors – red shirts, skirts, flowers, green hills,
trees, the beach, and blue sky, bicycles, sea.

Touch had changed.  Smooth faces were wrinkled,
a child left at two had his own of five,
and we could turn a handle, touch a door,
open it, shake hands with friends, a stranger,
feel grass or sand under our feet.  But
if your touch woke us up we’d surely scream.

News had changed.  We became human beings.
But we felt like strangers at home, with friends –
except from prison.  We were not heroes.
TVs had remotes, shops self-moving doors.
We had to learn to choose shoes, our own clothes,
how to spend money, and fight the bad dreams.

There were no masks in prison, though we find
them outside.  We could not lie to roommates
so we shared thoughts – we read books, learned to think,
learned to read faces, words.  And to see
liars in many of the world leaders.
So we still resist now that we’ve been freed.

© Lavinia Kumar

Beyond the Walls

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH. 

One Body, One Goal

Everyone says on the streets that one hundred days

are not enough, that it takes three hours for bread,

that city workers need bribes and have feet of clay.

Buses feel free to drive fast down streets the wrong way

and poor districts have large rubbish piles though they plead

for streets to be fully cleaned in one hundred days.

President Mursi has a tough army to weigh

with drug dealers, thugs and the whole electorate

who mistrust city workers known for feet of clay.

He had a parliament for minutes one day,

a supreme court really determined to impede,

making it hard to succeed in one hundred days,

but he visits neighbor countries as head of state

to make sure that the brotherhood is not misread

and his plans will not wither or have feet of clay.

Egyptians beg that they be treated all the same

as a democratic society would demand

and they all hope the promise of one hundred days

rejuvenates the country, removes feet of clay.

© Lavinia Kumar

Are 100 days enough?

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

Standard Model Playground

Leptons charge into the playground in Planck time –
muons, taus and better known electrons slither,
slide, run, in full zest as though they are all that matter.
In proper time and space a flow of quarks appear,
and charm the leptons with rival and strange flavors,
sometimes by moving up, sometimes down,
but always with positive impulse.  They are known
to spin tales in an urge to compose a new playground,
small enough for fermions.
And so today cryptic W and Z bosons
shuttle between them and the leptons
to rework the design – they show waves and matter
must waver and adjust to the new architecture.
Then, as they take a collective breath,
Higgs enters with low energy, unobtrusively, quiet,
only to disappear as the new playground is settled.

© Lavinia Kumar

Higgs boson-like particle discovery claimed at LHC

Italian Higgs boson research body bears brunt of government cuts

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

A Title of Command

A monsignor flies over priests,
like a blue jay defending its nest,
a principal his schoolchildren,
a hunter his hounds at the fox kill –
the master hunter astride his horse,
his hands in white gloves.

In medieval times they hailed a fox
a beast of the chase, the pursuit
a thrill, only stopped if the prey
went to ground – then the master’s
proud horn sounded, to point hunters
to another field, another fox.

The master hunter sported a uniform
of scarlet jacket with four crested
brass buttons, white skin-tight breeches,
dress boots to the knee with no laces,
and a hunt cap with black ribbon
sewn to hang down to his back.

A monsignor may wear a red-trimmed
black cassock with purple sash, or
perhaps purple cassock for solemn rites.
And he may send a priest from one
church to another, to lead altar boys
in sanctuary duties, and beyond

to other rooms and indoor spaces
where a fox would feel as trapped
as when underground.  Though a fox
has fled to be alone, to escape
its hunters, and is able to breathe
more quietly, in freedom.

© Lavinia Kumar

House arrest denied for convicted Pa. monsignor

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

New/Old Egypt

Lady Justice holds the balance
of truth and fairness
Muslim to military

in blind hope the everyday
men and women
from Tahir Square

will not have new memories
of being shot raped
stoned to death

will not allow inexperience
of leadership
to end their quest

for a spring to democracy
an equal voice
a free breath

as new guns hit parlor TVs –
the constitution
gone, the last test.

© Lavinia Kumar

Muslim Brotherhood's Mursi declared Egypt president

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

Two Thousand and Twelve

Contraceptives
French letter
condoms

are over
women’s
mouths

in Michigan
Assembly
and House

where vaginas
are in
bills

Vasectomies
women’s speech
blackened out


© Lavinia Kumar

As Punishment For Opposing Anti-Abortion Bill, Male Michigan House Leader Bans Two Female Reps From Speaking

Michigan Rep. Lisa Lyons calls Sen. Gretchen Whitmer 'a liar'

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

Squid

It could be a shuttlecock
steering its way undersea
except there is no need
for a racquet, when an axon
will do for speed.

It took Huxley and Hodgkin
to have the nerve to steal
the long cord, the stringy thing,
for a wet experiment
sometime after tea.

They zapped that nerve with a charge
big enough to give it shocks
till the amp opened a gate
as it sailed through the lock
and ran on in glee.

The squid’s secret is now freed
and we all can read again
the action and its mystery.
So when a jellyfish bites
the pain will make you scream.

© Lavinia Kumar

The Squid and the Electric Current: Remembering the Work of a Brain Pioneer

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

The Butler/Priest Did It

Black and white clothes, formal
careful, with the wine, appetizer
on a platter, served, thanks be
to God, without spilling on
the person’s clothes

nor revealing the boy behind
the stairs, the money basket
dropping into secret pockets,
the ring of rosaries circling
each cardinal. They are poisoned.

© Lavinia Kumar

Pope's butler charged over leaked Vatican letters

Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.

Immolation

We raced between flames, the piercing light

melted our bones into the earth, glued

by burned muscle and melted tendons. We could

see the prayer wheels darkening and women knit

while they walk on mountain paths. But our hands

were empty of prayer beads, our prayers were now

hot, red, yellow – screaming as wind. The words

follow soldier machines that stamped on dresses

and school books to forbid the very language

we used to tell stories, to pass on ways to cook,

to herd sheep, and to find steep trails to shepherd

our yak and goat. Our knees no longer felt temple

floors, our arms could not gather barley from fields.

Our lips had been sealed with hot wax. But still

we could leave in flames – even as they throw bitter

water. Wind comes from east and west

until dark comes.

© Lavinia Kumar

China TV blames Dalai Lama for Tibet immolations
 
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Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, in the US and UK. She writes a blog for her brother’s seniorsmagazine.org, based in Portsmouth, NH.