This is so beautiful ans a wonderful tribute to Tonia
“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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Good and pertinent poem Colin
I once aspired to be you
or at least just like you.
You were cool
you stuck it to the 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.
I look over at you
and what you have become.
Cruel and detracted.
Give me your poor,
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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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 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.
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This is fun and clever too
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’.
This 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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