Monday, 28 February 2011

Bring Home the Bacon

Three rashers a day
is all I can have.
Three rashers a day and five veg.
A small glass of wine is really OK
poured precisely from
unit pipettes.

No fags are allowed
and weed's still illegal,
but three rashers
can grace my plate.
Must it be back
or is streaky permitted?
Does the seventy grams include fat?

I can eat lots of eggs,
they have been found
not guilty,
but a brussel sprout omelette
je ne sais quoi.

I'll reflect on this guidance
when thought is conducive
after my brandy,
pie, chips
and cigar.

© Malcolm Saunders (Malpoet)

25 Feb 2011 - Government experts urging Britons to eat less meat
Retired, cantankerous, libertarian and occasionally a poet, I am probably malodorous, but seek to avoid being malicious or malevolent so I vent malapert musings through malpoetry.

Malpoet blog

Sunday, 27 February 2011

Sunday Shorts


Muammar Gaddafi’s lost face
Prevented him leaving with grace.
So chaos will follow.
Their victory hollow
When somebody worse take his place!

© Stafford Ray


Not going to work

…and not going to work 

Is not going to work

© Jason T Richardson

Rising youth unemployment, low pay – for teenagers it really is so unfair

Saturday, 26 February 2011


Nintendo DS, Nintendo DS,
I’m falling in love and I have to confess
That I long to embrace
Your smooth plastic case
All the curves of your surface, Nintendo DS.

Nintendo DS! Do you feel the same way?
Do your buttons all tingle when my thumbs are at play?
I’ve had more consoles, true,
But none quite like you
I don’t stay and play with my PlayStation all day.

Say quickly, Nintendo! What you intend – oh!,
You hold me in places Xbox cannot go!
When I touch iPod touch
I don’t feel half as much
As when…
Excuse me!
I have to go Wii!

© Tim Train

Nintendo DS All Time Highest Oz Seller As Market Sinks


Tim blogs at Will Type For Food

Editors' note: Other makes and games are available!

Friday, 25 February 2011


Justice taking form, stop

uber hacker
leading the way,

information for the people, stop

alien tresses, attitude,

no giving up.

All is not lost,

sign of the times,

seismic shift in paradigm, stop
assuage no one

no way back,

genius programs
everything known, stop

© Gabrielle Bryden

Wikileaks: no proof that Julian Assange encouraged leak

Gabrielle Bryden is an Australian poet published in Ripples, Speedpoets, Extempore magazines; Cherry Blossom Review, Lunarosity, Divan, Bolts of Silk, Third Eye, Specusphere ezines; and on national ABC Radio.

Thursday, 24 February 2011

Arabian Idol

The unhaloed saints,
The people looking
more and more like God.
The holy carrying
fallen angels on their shoulders.
The apotheosis shouting grace
like pollen germinating
possible miracles.

© Jo Maurits

New protests in Arab States


Jo's Blog is A Nana's Journey

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

Made in America

We overslept
the American Dream.
The Industrial Revolution
was a nightmare.

We can lie all day
in the bed we made
because our jobs have gone
South of the Border.
The American flag
is “made in China.”
Our “buy now pay later”
bill is due.

© Colleen Redman
Made in America: A Brief History of U.S. Manufacturing
Colleen Redman: In the same way a baby puts everything in his mouth to see what it is like, I put words on paper.

I also blog daily at Loose Leaf Notes.

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

To A Library Facing Withdrawal of Funding

Shall all thy fusty books and dusty shelves
Be let alone, to store the wastrel word
Of those who failed to educate themselves
For usefulness in banking? How absurd
To hope that we might wish thee to live on!
Thou art not profitable; get thee gone.

© Philip Challinor


Weblog: The Curmudgeon - You'll come for the curses. You'll stay for the mudgeonry.
Books: Philip Challinor's Books

Monday, 21 February 2011

Temporary Gain - Permanent Damage

Artesian Basin,
Bringing life
Australia’s dry Outback.

Nature’s wonder
So long forming
Delicate its balance.

The suits, the hats
Seducers all,
Buy time on prime TV

Highly trained to
Placate fear with
Fake integrity

Like the randy
Drunken lout
A lying one night stand,

You have your way
And leave behind
A monster pregnancy.

© Stafford Ray

The Gas Rush - the coal seam gas industry and the cost to farmers and the environment
Writer of musical plays and reading resources for schools. Wannbe novelist, one completed, two more on the way. Poetry happens when moved, limericks when amused (interchangeable).

Blog : StaffordRay

Sunday, 20 February 2011

Missouri Logic

Senator Cunningham,
you yearn for the days
of chimney sweeps?
Stunning ma’am.

Allowing a company
to hire their kid
won't smoke out a job
for Mom or for Dad.

State Senator Jane Cunningham Wants to Put Missouri Kids to Work


John Newmark lives in St. Louis, Missouri, performing his poetry at
local cafes. He is slightly obsessed with genealogy research; his
militia ancestor later deserted, turning United Empire Loyalist.


Saturday, 19 February 2011

The Cock Up

These games are do or die.
Strap a blade on us,
throw us in the ring and place your bets.
You could win maybe ten thousand dollars!

We are killers—los gallos
en la arena—
you stick your neck out—
you get hurt.
When the razor comes down—
on the cock-sure—
they won't be so cocky ...

You are standing by, watching us stab
each other for your sport.
You are shouting so loudly, and
is going to hear
your screams
when I turn the blade that draws so much blood—
and pays the highest dividends—
on you.

Who is "cock-of-the-walk" now, amigo?

©  Kat Mortensen

Rooster stabs man to death at cockfight


Read Kat Mortensen at Poetikat's Invisible Keepsakes


You can take a little pain,
Your discomfort is medicine's gain.
Let's hook you up, apply the heat.
Right height, right weight, you'll do a treat.

In goes the drug, you're unaware
Of any analgesics, there.
Now you're getting some relief,
Still in the dark with no belief.

When you know what to expect,
The medics note a strange effect.
Prof says, "…phenomenal…it's really cool."
Hey, your brain's a useful tool.

© Martin Hodges

Negative experiences can stop painkillers working

Friday, 18 February 2011

Poetry24 Tweets!

To launch Poetry24

on Twitter we asked

people to come up with

some topical poems in

140 characters or less.

Or, as we put it:

Alert the media – send us tweets!
We’re ‘live’ online & in the streets
of virtual reality
with ‘of-the-minute’ poetry.

Or, as @ClareKirwan said: Things can't possibly get worse / unless we do the news in VERSE

Here are some of our favourites:

Big Society,
Tory piety,
Clegg anxiety
Public rioty.
He also reckoned:
The biggest rats in Downing Street
Cannot be killed by cats, I tweet.

But @69wurdz disagreed

Downing Street rats...
in ironed cravats.
Puppet committee...
twisting the news.
Balaclava kitty...
tightens the noose. ~

This one, from @jhon_calrk

Pity the squaddie head down in his trench
To lose his allowance would be such a wrench

Which sparked @ClareKirwan off again:

Pity the librarians all by their shelves
while the Tories only help those who can help themselves

Shut the Libraries,kill the Trees,
cut the NHS,raise Tuition fees.
Cuts,cuts & then cut some more,
Tory policy we've all seen before

You must support me says Red Ed
I did said the grannie & now I'm dead

As you may imagine from the emphasis on British politics, this was all taking place during Prime Minister's Question Time (PMQT) which inspired another from @pchallinor

Pee Em Kew Tee.
Smirk and patronise, then flee.

and, probably this one too:

Big Society and more:
Kill the sick and eat the poor

If you're on Twitter, follow us at @Poetry24blog. If you're not on Twitter - why not try to pen your own topical ditty in 140 characters or less in the comments?

The Intelligent Corvid Family

Raven youths who rove in gangs,
the Boffins now have found,
have hormone levels raised by stress!
A surprise, I'll be bound!

It used to be the theory
that Mums and Dads in pairs
had the hardest tasks of all,
defending what was theirs.

But Raven Ravers in their gangs
although they share their food,
are worse off than the families
who decide to raise a brood

and choose a life long partner.
It now seems that is best
for more harmonious living's
found inside the family nest!

© Jinksy

Ravens 'stressed by gang life'
Jinksy blogs as Napple Notes and Alias Jinksy

Thursday, 17 February 2011

One Hundred Sled Dogs

Today a crystal-bright February fog
flickers in sunlight above your graves,
As one by one you vapour forth
to flutter greyly in the air.

One hundred sled dogs championed
by one hundred red-mittened hands,
And one hundred glory-waving flags,
Oh Canada, true patriot love.

Now we stand on guard,
arms full of vanished bones
and tainted splendid deeds.
Naked in the red-stained snow.

We bless with gruff praise,
seeking God in gutters like
Mother Theresa. Candlelight
Vigil grasping grace from lament.

© Jo Maurits

Tourism lull led to ‘execution-style killings’ of 100 B.C. sled dogs.


Jo's Blog is A Nana's Journey

A Dose of Sanity

'Tis known on our Westminster heights
That paedophiles and human rights
Are certainly the stuff of death
When mentioned in a single breath;
And that is why Theresa May
Is squeaking "Deary! Lackaday!
Why can't these European fools
Allow us Brits our humble tools
To utilise as we best please
In treating this most vile disease,
These human cancers of our nation
Who lack a faith-school education?"
(For no-one learns to be so beastly
From being abused by something priestly.
Nay; in their evil ways they're set
Thanks mostly to the internet.)
And so the Cleggeron Alliance
Has promised minimum compliance
With any laws that dare suggest
That lifelong stigma's not the best
Of methods (save, of course, the rope)
To give the innocent some hope
That someday Justice will again
Castrate, brand, flog, and thus be sane.

© Philip Challinor

David Cameron condemns supreme court ruling on sex offenders.


Weblog: The Curmudgeon - You'll come for the curses. You'll stay for the mudgeonry.
Books: Philip Challinor's Books

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Breaking News

They break news down
to a few column inches
instantly forgettable,
a late night sound-bite
that tweet, tweet, tweets
like birdsong tinnitus.

Exhausted adjectives,
old chestnut clichés
lined up on the page
like the usual suspects
(different words suspicious
as abandoned packages).

And whether it's editors
squeezing the heart out of
a story to make it fit
or the white noise of
too many words filling
vacant space, it's far too easy

just to turn the page.
We need a hook to hang
the horror on, attach
the facts. A net to catch
the moment in. To ask
the question doorstep reporters
never ask themselves:
How does it feel?

© Clare Kirwan

Clare Kirwan is part of Liverpool's Dead Good Poets Society and blogs as Broken Biro

Dreaming America (They Wait)

They wait in line for their daily meal.
They wait with sporadic grumbling,
the occasional outburst,
the letter to whom it may concern,
the odd lawsuit.
When the roller coaster comes
sweeping through some try
crazily to jump on while others try
desperately to jump off.
Few are successful.
Carefully comparing scratches,
carefully ignoring the fallen,
they wait.

© Mark Kerstetter

“Job openings fall for second straight month” —AP news, February 8, 2011

Photo: Steve Harts

Mark Kerstetter steals time away from restoring an old house in Florida to write poetry and make art out of salvaged wood. He blogs at The Bricoleur.

Sex and the Duncan Smith

By vicious youth harassed and harried,
In sex and sin we're drowning:
We live alone, remain unmarried,
And Duncan Smith is frowning.

The single life, the serial love,
Are not the ways of Britons,
Who must be lectured from above
And paid a weekly pittance.

If parents fight like dog and cat,
Or seethe in silent deadlock -
No matter, surely! Better that
Than happy out of wedlock.

If Albion you would preserve,
Renounce cohabitation!
Cleave to your spouse and hold your nerve,
And propagate the nation!

Alas for times that did not vex,
When morals were far better! O,
Return, ye days when legal sex
Was clean and pure and hetero!

© Philip Challinor

Ian Duncan Smith backs tax breaks for married couples


Weblog: The Curmudgeon - You'll come for the curses. You'll stay for the mudgeonry.
Books: Philip Challinor's Books

Who Cares?

She's no spring chicken, my daughter,
and she never misses a visit.
Three buses, to get here,
and busy roads to cross.
I want to get well for her,
to see the last
of her faraway smile.
If I could just reach the bell.

She brushes my hair, my daughter,
and she never pulls a knot.
Three nurses, I get here,
and I make them cross.
I want to stay dry for them,
to call the last
of my cries for help.
If they could just reach out a hand.

She's no spring chicken, my daughter,
and I never see her weep.
Trusted Trinity, she brings here,
and her little silver cross.
I want to pray with her,
to plea for the last
of my childish traits.
If I could just reach home.

© Martin Hodges

NHS 'failing to treat elderly with care and respect'


At Poetry24, we want YOUR poems. Check out the submission page (above) for details - and please spread the word about this site. We consider poems in all forms, even tiny poems are welcome for our occasional Sunday Shorts.