Pathogen, by Bob Beagrie

I am not a silent poet

“Thy subjects blood
With fire and sword
Cries vengeance Lord.”

Parliamentarian motto from ‘The Great Eclipse of the Sun’, 1644.

“Hate begets hate;
violence begets violence;
toughness begets a greater toughness.”

Dr Martin Luther King, 1958

like someone forgot to turn the key, shoot the bolt,
guard the cage door and now its loose, running wild,
raging on pent-up retribution for its incarceration;
not hiding in the undergrowth, a hole in the ground
but behind a look, beneath a word, within a promise
travelling in a crowd forming clusters along chains
of transmission, hitchhiking on breath and bodily fluids,
a stowaway in an attitude, an illegal immigrant riding
the virulent fear of itself gone viral, breaking-out
with a swelling of symptoms: the sharpened accusations
of ‘susceptibles’, slammed doors, raised voices, dog shit
through the letter box, broken windows, burning homes,
a contagion of tears, smoking guns, targeted spot-checks,

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America is not great, by Colin Davies

Good and pertinent poem Colin

I am not a silent poet

I once aspired to be you
or at least just like you.
You were cool
rebellious,
you stuck it to the man,
man.
You gave flowers to soldiers
and young men to wars.
But your hamburgers were legend
and your cities…
They were so tall.
I never knew the history
only the Hollywood statue.
Dreaming of walking on your land,
being invited in for apple pie,
and root beer.
But now,
I look over at you
and what you have become.
Cruel and detracted.
Give me your poor,
no more.
Tired huddled masses,
yearning to breathe with the free.
But the flaming lamp,
by the golden door,
has long been extinguished.
Refused at your teeming shore.
No more dreams,
not from me.
I long no more,
for the land of the free.
I long no more,
for the home of the brave.
As I don’t see bravery,
In keeping kids…

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via Species Sustainability

Our young are our future a crop we manage
birthing, raising, loving, shielding
until we release them to fruit in the world.

For they are the future of country and culture
planning, learning, loving, caring,
and carrying our lives, values on when we’re gone.

We share these values across the globe’s nations
whatever our colour, creed or nation
we strive for home and sustain our families,

no matter whether a beggar in rags, or rich as Croesus
for gold is but metal as Midas found
when bread and wine turned to gold he couldn’t drink.

Who hears the children afraid to go to school?
Scythed in their youth by the boy with gun
or broken and blasted by a tyrant’s bomb.

They are the crop that fell on hard ground
taken by birds of greed, war, ignorance
to favour the harlot of hatred and fear

she walks down the street with sympathy’s
flag and gun in a belt or bag
but the children are dead and the coffins parade.

© 2018, Carolyn O’Connell

The BeZine, Call for Submissions

THE BeZINE




The BeZine is published quarterly on the fifteenth of March, June, September and December. Please read our Intro and Mission Statement and at least one back issue of The BeZine before submitting work for consideration. Each issue is theme based.

Please be mindful that our core team (The Bardo Group Beguines), guest contributors and readers represent the world’s diversity. Nonviolence, respect and inclusion are core values.

All work must be submitted in English and properly edited for publication. Submissions in other languages are fine but only if they are accompanied by an English translation.

Please send submissions to bardogroup@gmail.com and put “submission” in the subject line.  If you were referred by one of our core team, please put their name in the subject line along with “submission.” Please include a brief bio not a curriculum vitae. If you have published the work submitted on your own website, blog, YouTube channel or other online venue you may send…

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Friday Poem – ‘How to make a good crisp sandwich’, Katherine Stansfield

Friday Poem – ‘How to make a good crisp sandwich’, Katherine Stansfield

This is fun and clever too

Seren Books Blog

Did you know it’s British Sandwich Week, 20-26 May? Yes – there really is a day (or week) for everything. And in celebration, our Friday Poem is Katherine Stansfield’s ‘How to make a good crisp sandwich’.

playing house katherine stansfieldThis is a poem that really does what it says on the tin: ‘crisps don’t work alone’, the poet warns, then proceeds to carefully list the potential permutations of this most British of sandwiches. ‘Who does this sandwich want to be?’ You may not have asked yourself this question before – so grab the bread, open a pack of crisps, and ponder.
Katherine Stansfield’s poetic debut, Playing House is marked by a concise wit, a distinct voice and an unsettling view of the domestic.
‘Striking imagery, strange leaps of thought, wit and menace aside, the unmistakeable thrill of Katherine Stansfield’s poetry is in the voice. It addresses the world directly, takes it personally…

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Young Carer, by Miki Byrne

No child should have their childhood taken because they are a carer. This poem tells the truth of such a situation

I am not a silent poet

Megan does the washing and gets her own tea.
Makes Mum a cuppa when she needs.
Dad went away when Mum was diagnosed
and Megan misses him.
Tells her little brother what he was like.
At parent’s evenings teachers wonder
why they don’t see someone for Megan.
Pass comment on how tired she is
and sloppy with her homework.
Megan tries to work.
Clears the kitchen table but has to wash up first,
do laundry, help Mum to the bathroom .
Megan doesn’t get pocket money.
Mum’s disability benefit doesn’t stretch far.
On Saturdays Megan doesn’t play out,
or go to the park.
She has no dance class, swimming.
Only the TV for after school.
She does little any other twelve year old would do.
Megan works hard because Mum has MS
and Megan loves her Mum.

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