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Friday, 16 November 2018

An overnight declaration






An overnight declaration

Theresa May vows
to dig in like Geoff
and remains deaf
to the many rows
caused by her plan
which seems likely
to go down the pan.

© Luigi Pagano

Thursday, 15 November 2018

I Wonder What She’s Thinking

I wonder what she’s thinking
When she goes to bed at night
Does she worry that she’s failing?
Does she think she’s got it right?
Does she really think it’s worth it?
All the anger and the pain
For she’s aiming to extract us
When she wanted to remain
But she took the poisoned chalice
As she coveted the power
Yet her place as Britain’s leader’s
Getting weaker by the hour
She has Cabinet agreement
And restored some sort of order
But there’s still the knotty issue
Of that tricky Irish border
Resignations all around her
Does she wish she wasn’t born?
Does she wish that she was running
Through a field of golden corn?
Will she ever gain consensus?
Will she even last the day?
When we crash right out of Europe
Will she turn to Mr May
And say “Philip, was it worth it?
I’ll go down in history
As the one who bungled Brexit
Will that be my legacy?”

© Jo Wright


Jo Wright is retired and lives in Dorset. She has written poems and stories all her life but has only recently felt brave enough to begin sharing them with others.

Saturday, 13 October 2018

Tick Tock













tick… tock…

aftershock
the geological clock
is a binful of decaying atoms no-one pays heed to all that rock
and rubble all that oceanic telling precisely all we have to do
with a time bomb wired and primed bound and strapped to the world

tick-tock

hellos goodbyes
how time flies
no more lies!
come on! we were the ones (the eons) whose half-open eyes
witnessed the end of history when concrete came and the jungle
and the wild tiger made lion-hearted prey for our predator metal
our digging in the dirt as we dug for gold for gem and stone
for thick black oil to flame and grease the open palms of tomorrow

         for us          all for us    but not for all of us

tick tock tick

time is at hand
the final grains of sand
silt an empty hinterland 

tock tick

eleven years more till our greed its trickling water-torture knocks at our skulls
in one last sign of madness at our delusion of competence we are just plain nuts
or bolts the stable door unhinged in the way that being human is an illness
a state of mind broken thinking otherwise somewhere truth lies dead and buried
the truth and nothing but the truth so help me god so help us oh god because
beside truth’s corpse every godhead every single one is another rotting stiff as are all
those feeble things of flesh of which we knew but cared so little and now too late

tock

tick tock

tick…

© Brian Hill

Final call to save the world from 'climate catastrophe'

World has only 11 years to stop catastrophic climate change, experts warn

Brian Hill. 50 years a poet. One-time designer and film-maker; long ago, the rhyme-slinger, cartoon cowboy, and planetarium poet; now feverishly stringing words together in the hope of making sense.
Brian blogs as Scumdadio (don’t ask).