Poetry

Poetry

It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care to act,
it starts when you do it again after they said no,
it starts when you say we and know who you mean,
and each day you mean one more.

Marge Piercy

Irish TV Election Debate
Sunday, 02 February 2020 20:12

Irish TV Election Debate

Written by
in Poetry
Irish TV Election Debate by Pete Mullineaux I’m rooting for the left – but how to unite the red and green? I think on back to those once separated Luas lines: two sets of track, having avoided one another, awaiting final linkage – how we felt under attack, railed against…
A Mother Stamps Her Feet
Saturday, 01 February 2020 09:41

A Mother Stamps Her Feet

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in Poetry
A Mother Stamps Her Feet By Rafael Pizarro A mother in San Jose sees a child ina cage and stamps her feet. This is how it starts. In a cabin, at the foot of humble mountains a man and his wife, marriedseventeen years now and still young,watch a neighbor dragged…
Process Worker, Pirelli
Thursday, 30 January 2020 18:55

Turning Slavery into Art

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in Poetry
Turning Slavery Into Art by Fred Voss “This is slavery,”Armando on the old manual milling machine saysand smileshis ironic smileas all the shop machinists fire up their machines and drop denim or leather apronsaround their necks as the time clock ticks“Every day, the same, every dayhere on the dot every…
Peephole
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Friday, 24 January 2020 10:57

Peephole

in Poetry
Written by
Peephole by Owen Gallagher, with image by Jon Addison When a Conservative candidate callsRuth wears a blue rosette. When a Labour candidate knocksshe reaches for red. If there’s a rapid rap she freezesat the thought of her grandparents rising as smoke from a chimney.
Prime Ministerial Couplets
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Thursday, 23 January 2020 19:40

Prime Ministerial Couplets

in Poetry
Written by
Prime Ministerial Couplets by Edward Mackinnon Not favouring CurryJohn had his way with her, but wouldn’t promote herShe was salmonella poison to the loyal Tory voter Suppliers of corpses His Edinburgh schooling must have taught Blairhe needed a Bush just as Burke needed Hare Economic BraveheartNo return to boom and…
Knight of the Gutter
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Monday, 20 January 2020 19:34

Knight of the Gutter

in Poetry
Written by
Knight of the Gutter (aka Iain Duncan Smith's Got a Knighthood) by Alan Morrison The media smeared Jeremy Corbyn for good,Ensured a catastrophic election result,A thumping majority for Boris's cult,And Iain Duncan Smith's got a knighthood. The real change we needed exchanged for gnarled woodOf Parliament's ingrained gig-hegemony,Members be branded…
The Buttering of the Bread
K2_PUBLISHED_ON Monday, 16 December 2019 10:38

The Buttering of the Bread

in Poetry
Written by
The Buttering of the Bread by Rob Walton, with image by Martin Gollan Just because I changed to the Toriespeople tell me I don't knowwhich side my bread is butteredwhen in actual factand no word of a liethe smiling Mr Johnsonbuttered both sides. He covered one side in our beloved…
To A Different Country
Wednesday, 06 November 2019 09:47

To A Different Country

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in Poetry
To A Different Country by Mike Jenkins We were selling ticketsfor a journey to a different country(our own, yet changed totally).At the station our flags flappedin a strange windstirring from valley to mountaindespite the frosty stillnessof another Monday morning. ‘But it’s the same old train!’moaned the half-asleepcommuters heading for the…
My Blood
Thursday, 10 October 2019 08:33

My Blood

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in Poetry
My blood by Sutputra Radheye poets are sleepingwith flowers in gardens across brothelswhen the rest of the city-crumbles like pieces of breadfalling in the fire of communalism. Their beds are warm like their fleshas the scandalous lips wear their skin dragging their words to the climax junctionof neon sigh-sparkling impotency.…
A Very Northern Inheritance
Thursday, 10 October 2019 08:23

A Very Northern Inheritance

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in Poetry
A Very Northern Inheritance by Linda Burnett An agony of worker aunts passed martyrdom along the female line. Each rivulet of steam and sweat, reamed achingly from unsung toil, puddled in the gene pool of the North. Eyes halfway to heaven, anchored by a hyphenated mouth, traced blueprints for our…
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