National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Stop Taking The Tabloids by Peter Roe

I am not a silent poet

My anxiety is rising… my stress is off the scale

I glimpsed a bloody headline in the Daily Mail

They fill you up with crazy and make your mind obsess

We should waterboard our MPs and make them all confess

Leaning left, leaning right, then they’re on the fence

Scrap the trident, ban the bomb, spend more on defence

The security forces watch you with your own webcam

Phishing, skimming, hacking the latest techno scam

Why did they put those masts in the centre of our towns?

Wireless from our smart phones is used to dumb us down!

The rich are getting richer they are standing on our backs

The poor are sponging off the state according to the hacks

The foreigners are coming they’re going to take your job

The criminals are outsourcing… to the Russian mob

The food we’re eating will kill us it’s gone beyond a joke

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This is not Complicated by Dominic Albanese

I am not a silent poet

it is very clear…ALL LIVES MATTER
should be a decal on bombers and drones
with small print below
*unless we can make money by killing you*
then there is the matter of *to insure domestic tranquility*
another laugh riot
we of *high born order*
plan to stay that way
as more become aware of the cabal of (rulers)
they (the cabal) must gin up more dissent and anger
to keep Scrooge McDuck’s vault full
the current rash of protest is not Anti-Amercian
as Trump + Limbaugh would have you think
it is simply

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Seeds by Cath Campbell

I am not a silent poet

That day my mother binds my hair tight with a bone comb,
and places a red scarf around my neck.
So I don’t lose you, she says.

It’s the colour of my heart and when the rough seas rise,
and the implacable remorse of water rolls,
I will see you wherever you are.

The boat rocks, and we are locked in desperate prayer
into the fiery sunset, but the dark is a mercy.
We hope to reach the land.

And when they come too late sailing out of the new day
will they find us together floating, limbs askew,
and the sunrise seeded red with love?

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Three Drops from a Cauldron: Issue 13 (March 2017)

Three Drops from a Cauldron: Issue 13 (March 2017)

Three Drops from a Cauldron

Happy spring, readers, writers, and other good people. (Or happy autumn to our friends in the southern hemisphere.) This month we’re pleased to bring you our usual blend of the surreal, the beautiful, and the terrible as expressed in myth and folklore. If you’ve come here looking for those things, you won’t be disappointed.

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#SourcePark Hastings

What an amazing transformation


A week staying in a tiny cottage in Hastings Old Town took on a new significance for my scooter-obsessed son when we discovered, on our second day here, that a 20 minute walk along the promenade would take us to The Source Park – the world’s largest underground skatepark.

The Source building was originally the White Rock swimming baths, including a Turkish bath and individual baths back in Victorian times. Its popularity waxed and waned, and over the years the building was modified and became an ice rink and a cinema. Eventually it closed and was derelict for several years.

The skatepark opened in 2016, after gaining funding in 2014, and the White Rock baths underwent a massive overhaul in being fitted out as a skatepark. But what is fascinating about the building now, apart from it being a great place for all ages of scooter / BMX / skateboarder…

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Listening to Bach’s Passion at the Proms by Carolyn O’Connell

Thanks to Ruben

I am not a silent poet

Sung in German, his language
one I slightly know
the anger of the mob, a people led
by men who feared loss of power
to reject an innocent man
who’d helped and taught love.

Knowledge of another’s language
culture and beliefs: brings understanding
no matter what his colour, status
or the culture, country where he flies from
or still strives to live.

If all men could learn from others
the stranger on your road
then no leader would have power
to bring men to hate or war.

There would be no enemy
no one to despise
we’d understand each other
no matter what the dress or voice
or where we live or worship
or even what we eat.

Then we’d be each other’s brothers
and sisters, forever joined in harmony.

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