Friday, 31 August 2018

Turkeys With Neck

Old Turkey had a turkey neck
it swang and swung at every peck
one day she said ‘my neck's a wreck
I'm off to see a plastic vet.’

The plastic vet said 'Heck, I gotcha
those folds and creases just don't suit ya
I'll snip 'em off, we're good to go
you bet this vet knows how to sew!'

A strangled cry, she nearly choked
When plastic vet drew up her throat
A slice off here and here he wrote
Till anaesthetic made her float

Old Turkey sure was slow to heal
the vet drip fed her corn and meal
but scars will hurt and leave a weal -
hey pain’s a big part of the deal!

Her dangly wattle taut and tamed
Old Turkey’s voice castrato-strained
a foul expression oddly pained
it costs a bunch to look so maimed.

WhenTurkey got back with the flock
the other old birds got a shock
her transformation sorely mocked
for all agreed the new neck sucked

They sang ‘our folds deserve less flack
and plastic vets should cut no slack
we’re proud of our old turkey neck
let’s sway and swing with every peck!’

© S.O. Fasrus

I worked for a plastic surgeon, but the feeling of guilt became too much

S.O. Fasrus: Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

My Beautiful Balloon

My Beautiful Balloon

The balloon making industry is showing a significant upsurge.
After laying off over 200 workers less than a year ago
there has been a turnaround
with retail outlets showing high demand for the product.
The industry believes the Trump Blimp,
floated during the American President’s visit,
followed in recent days
by the proposed floating of the Sadiq Khan bikini clad blimp,
has contributed to the rise in demand.
A trend for bespoke life sized blimps,
not merely for protest,
but for cultural events and big family occasions
such as weddings and baptisms,
has pushed business up by 60%.
The sector is ballooning.

© S. O. Fasrus

When and where to see the Sadiq Khan balloon and why the blimp shows the mayor in a yellow bikini

Wonga has gone wrong - ah!

Wonga has gone wrong - ah!

Many people will dance the Conga
having heard of the collapse of Wonga
They will say, “Serves them right
as they exploited the paupers' plight”.
The shareholders, it would appear,
are the only ones to shed any tear.

© Luigi Pagano

Wretched Dancer (After Mark Knopfler!)

Wretched Dancer (After Mark Knopfler!)

I'm your wretched dancer,
a dancer for trade deals
and any old brexit will do.

© Harry Gallagher

Theresa May busts out dance moves one more time on Africa trip

Thursday, 30 August 2018

Impossible to Park

(with Apologies to Henry Reed)

In season it’s impossible to park. Yesterday
The sun was shining. And tomorrow morning
It might be overcast or raining. But today -
And all season - it’s impossible to park. Visitors,
Like brightly coloured bees swarm through Penlee and Morrab
Gardens. It’s high season. It’s impossible to park.

This is the Market Jew Street snarl-up. And this
Is the A30 snarl-up, the true extent of which you will see
Only when, eventually, you get out of town. And this,
This is all the time in the world -
Which in our case we have not got. The visitors,
Sweaty in their four by fours make silent, eloquent gestures.
They worry about scratching their shiny new doors
Which we, the cash-strapped locals, have not got.

This is the car park at the Green Market which fills up
Early with shoppers. Please do not bother after half-past nine.
But instead try the one next-door to Penlee Park, which is
Bigger and just around the corner. It is , of course, expensive and
usually full. This is Cornwall. It’s impossible to park.

And this you can see is the Prom. The purpose of this
Is to take you to the beach. It is pleasanter to walk than to drive.
But you will need to get down there before the commuters
Who come into town for their day’s work. (We call this
Earning a living.) But the gaily-garbed holidaymakers, the would-be
morning strollers, find their places in Disabled spaces.
They call it, with a smile, ‘squeezing in'.

They call it squeezing in. For them it is perfectly easy.
(They have the neck and the nerve.) They can park on
The pavement or in front of someone’s driveway
(Which in my case I have not got). Or they ‘squeeze’ their off-road
Vehicles into residential roads - which are narrow - obstructing
The pavement. This is Cornwall. It’s impossible to park.

Visit Cornwall stops promoting Kynance Cove and Porthcurno because of overcrowding

Abigail Elizabeth Ottley writes poetry and short fiction from her home in Penzance where the sea air and beautiful scenery keep her mostly on the right side of sanity.

Wednesday, 29 August 2018

Dead or Alive

In NHS surgeries throughout the UK
3.6 million ghosts are waiting patiently
for their GP to confirm they are dead
but are entitled to that compensation,
the much touted and sought-after PPI.
They're bewildered and are asking why
a matter so grave has been overlooked
and has been buried among other news.
Now that they know, there is no excuse
to deny their dearest to make a claim
although it never was the original aim.
But any benefit that they might derive
would be invalid if they are still alive.
It has been revealed by a recent report
that medical records which purport
that 3.6 million patients do still exist
are wrong and deaths have been missed.
Doctors in England are said to be paid
for each patient that might require aid
whether they attend or they do not
and some people say that's quite a lot
of money that could increase the fund
of the NHS known to be moribund.

© Luigi Pagano 2018

Luigi Pagano has published three collections of poems: ‘Idle Thoughts’, ’Reflections’ and ‘Poetry On Tap’. His work has been featured in ABCTales’ magazines, UKAuthors’ anthologies, Poetry24 and several other publications.




© S. O. Fasrus

UK defends scallop boats after clashes with French vessels

Artificial intelligence

Artificial intelligence

A robot that watches
as you cross the road
to make sure pedestrians
follow the Green Cross code
is now being tested
by Jaguar Land Rover.
But does it also guide
the eponymous chickens
who always cross over
to the other side,
but we don't know why?

© Luigi Pagano

Tuesday, 28 August 2018


I have friends with anosognosia,
Intelligent, gifted, mis-directed
Most people they encounter
Offer help, support, well-meaning
The psyche of the individual
Cries for help-
The individual ignores it
They do not see to needs of
The child within.

What to do as a friend?
Offer support, advice; but really
Doesn't make much difference
Appreciate their quirkiness,
Their personality, the humour.

But ultimately,
Someone living with an abused
lost lonely child-
Destruction caused spreads outwards
Give them a hug, concern, hello
And simply, move on.

© Amanda Derry

How can you treat someone who insists they are not ill?

Amanda Derry joined a Creative Writing class, following a breakdown, which played a significant role in her recovery. She now embeds literacy skills into classes that she teaches. Amanda also runs the Facebook Group, I Love Writing.

No Nafs

No Nafs

We’ll be getting rid of the name Nafta
not a good name -
bad connotations, bad, very bad.
I know about brands, believe me.
words starting with 'naf'
can give the wrong idea.
I know a lot of words, believe me
and ‘naff,’ is a bad one.
It’s not the sort of word this President wants to be associated with.
Bad connotations, not good, not good.
You got to be really stupid to come up with a bad name like that.

© S. O. Fasrus

Monday, 27 August 2018

John Daniel - The Sad Tale of the Uley Gorilla

(After Poe's Annabelle Lee)

It was a hundred years ago
in a village, they called Uley
a lady called Alyce Cunningham lived
with an ape as tame as she

John Daniel her ape was her only thought
and she nurtured him tenderly
with the local children, he went to school
in that village school in Uley

And he had a great life, a luxury life
this ape was a VIP
at parties, he shone but then it went wrong
when John grew as big as a tree.

Though Alyce loved John, and her love was strong
to a circus, she sold him you see
America bound his hopes were drowned
as he sailed on a ship on the sea.

They shut him up in a cage below deck
on his trip to the land of the free
he pined and cried but his love survived
for Alyce and lovely Uley

One year went by but then John would die
'My broken heart's wronged,' cried he -
'by my circus life, all sorrow and strife
when I used to be loved and happy.'

© S. O. Fasrus

Memorial for cider-swilling ape that charmed a Cotswold village

S.O. Fasrus: Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

On a tightrope

On a tightrope

We mope with the Pope
who is trying to cope
with clergy who grope
and he has plenty of scope
but we must hope
he isn't on a slippery slope.

© Luigi Pagano

Sunday, 26 August 2018

The Hellas

When The Hellas was holed below,
a crew of pirates came on board
and bailed her out
so she did not sink.

They looted what there was to loot
and plundered on their way.

Anchored to the bottom
on a creaking chain
that wraps around the rocks,
she’s going under one day when.

Her paintwork’s peeled,
the motor’s permanently stalled
and half the crew’s gone overboard.
The holes are just above the water-line.

© Richard Devereux

The end of the Greek bailout

Richard Devereux is a member of Lansdown Poets and Bristol Stanza. His collection Bill tells the story of his grandfather, a soldier of World War One who fought on the Balkan front in northern Greece. Richard taught English in Athens and his knowledge of Greece inspires and informs much of his writing. His poems have appeared in several anthologies and on-line magazines.

Cnoc Mhuire

Cnoc Mhuire

Jesus Joseph and Mary,
a showing in Knock long ago,
John the Evangelist

quite large

as apparitions go,


© S. O. Fasrus

Papal visit: Pope ends historic visit to Ireland

Saturday, 25 August 2018

Glorious Mad

Mud, mud, glorious mud
Nothing quite like for raising the blood!
So follow me, follow me
Down to the Sea
There let them dump the glorious mud.

It's a gift from old England to Wales!
Don't believe them horrible tales.
Digging for glory at Hinkley Point C
Let's dump the mud in the Welsh sea.
It's only a bit radioactive, that's a fact
So don't get excited, don't act!
Let Cardiff Bay glow in the night
It will bring the tourists, the glorious sight!
The tides take it away from England, true
But that because dear Wales we love you!
If the fish die or the lava bread goes odd
Remember it's safe you silly old sod!
Them protesters have got everything wrong
So join your betters in this little song.

Mud, mud, glorious mud
Nothing quite like it for raising the blood!
So follow me, follow me
Down to the Sea
There let them dump the glorious mud.

© Phil Knight

The Cardiff nuclear mud row: The facts and the fiction

PROTEST: No To Nuclear Mud Being Dumped In Wales

Phil Knight is poet from Neath in South Wales. His poetry collection 'You Are Welcome To Wales" was published in 2015 by The Red Poets.



We’re Scandi-Sperm
The future is fair
Tall and white skinned
Slim with blonde hair

© S. O. Fasrus

Government raises fears about shortage of donated SPERM if there is no Brexit deal because we import so much from Denmark

Friday, 24 August 2018

At the Edinburgh Fringe

At the Fringe there are comics galore
who tell jokes to attentive spectators
who first laugh and then ask for more
thus pleasing the amusing narrators.

You won't hear a comedian say this:
please stop me if you think I'm a bore
even though some heckler might hiss
and tell him the punchline was poor.

Certain gags are considered chancy
if a double entendre is construed.
Saying phrases like 'tickle your fancy'
could be said to be implicitly rude.

A few jokes, though hard to believe,
are so ancient that it is often alleged
they were told by Adam to Eve
though the humour was slyly edged.

In the Arts event which is aestival
the comedians are women and men;
every year at the Edinburgh Festival
a panel of judges picks the best ten.

© Luigi Pagano 2018

Luigi Pagano has published three collections of poems: ‘Idle Thoughts’, ’Reflections’ and ‘Poetry On Tap’. His work has been featured in ABCTales’ magazines, UKAuthors’ anthologies, Poetry24 and several other publications.

Men of England Take Stand

Men of England Take Stand

Man of England lend a hand
Now's the time to take a stand.
Don't give in to Brexit defeat,
Be like Nelson and the fleet.
Unfurl the flag, rig the mast,
Do the motions quick and fast.
Remember Churchill's big cigar
Make a contribution a bit bizarre.
They did it, King Alfred and Robin Hood
But you can do it for the nation's good.

And every drop of milk of man
Will be frozen in a special can.
So don't waste that national seed
Go to the sperm bank at top speed
And your favourite form of behaviour
Will be your nation's future saviour.

© Phil Knight

Government raises fears about shortage of donated SPERM if there is no Brexit deal because we import so much from Denmark

A chain reaction

A chain reaction

The senior auctioneer valuer said,
“there is no chain to worry about,
particularly if you are flush with cash”
but people like us without any stash
can only reply, “pull the other one”.

© Luigi Pagano

Sexist Poem Washed Away by Serendipidous Swansea Rain

Sexist Poem Washed Away by Serendipidous Swansea Rain

Pavement poet’s pavement poems pretty personal
personal poems plotting personal publicity pretty poor
persons perturbed by pavement poet's poem planning purging pernicious poem
but improper pernicious pavement poem purged by downpour previously.

© S. O. Fasrus

He's had an asbo and police called on him, but this man is still writing poetry on Welsh pavements

Thursday, 23 August 2018

A Prayer for Pennsylvania

Jesus said, “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” (Matthew 18:6)

Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be the nameless & unnamed
Give us this day our daily news—
decades of abusers now accused
Deliver us from evil

I do not forgive priests who hurt little children

No matter how much they confess
or kneel or swish with holy water
No matter how many catechisms
or pilgrimages or prayers to the Virgin

I do not forgive pedophiles
or those who look the other way

They can drink the communion cup
until their bladder fills, explodes the prostate—
stuff their mouth with wafers, white as chastity

They can choke on this spotless body
rendered for them, offered for healing
of sickness and removal of sins

May they aspirate halfway through
their Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned
both the confessor and the falsely penitent

And then let them burn
Let them burn


© Marissa Glover

Author's Note: The Old Testament is filled with prayers for the God of Justice to smite the wicked. The New Testament, highlighting the God of Love, tells us to pray for our enemies—and so I have.

'Your faith is shaken.' Pittsburgh Catholics react to report detailing sexual abuse by clergy

Marissa Glover teaches and writes in Florida. Her poetry is found in UK journals such as Amaryllis, Picaroon, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Bonnie’s Crew, and Solstice Sounds. Follow her on Twitter @_MarissaGlover_.

Poets welcome in Swansea

Poets welcome in Swansea

Pavement poet picked a pavement for a pavement poem
poems penned on pavements the pavement poet picked
particular pavements for particular poems penned on pavements
Particularly pursuing particular pavements for particular poems

© S. O. Fasrus

He's had an asbo and police called on him, but this man is still writing poetry on Welsh pavements

Wednesday, 22 August 2018


Words and pages and so much between;
an eternity of books, gathered-in sheaves,
stories falling through, doing and telling,
spiralled leaves, heavy with meaning.

Ink or ashes, marked boundaries, black lines,
what is, what was, what could or might have been,
and the pigment in the ink, ash dissolved or ash itself
scrapes char across paper.

Experience and belief settle on shelves;
words from the air, words written down,
while truth blurs grey, clouds the horizon;
in the fog of contention doubt blows in.

Books at odds, stacked, classified by subject,
names, titles, genres, fiction, fact; libraries
of disagreement strain with judgment;
no-one understands it.

Expression becomes an aching wound to those
who value belief over wisdom, who will not refract
ideas and the lives they grow from
through any lens of differences.

Hands reach out, rip out the outrageous text,
cast out whole volumes, bin them, incinerate them,
because the words inside say something
too impertinent to hear.

Between word and page, are revolutions,
some here, some gone, but still their ideas burn,
illuminating women, men, slave and master,
who lies with whom, who owns what,
who strikes a light to see by.

In pyres, books stain the clouds with smoke;
as they burn, an elusive bookmark rises,
a smudge-fire on the wind of denial
showing us where the censors hide.

Words go up in flames and,
where their ash falls back,
gather together again, ideas
reforming in the dirt again.

© Brian Hill

When the far right targets books, it should ring alarm bells for us all

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).

Ways and means

Ways and means

Do you remember the gangster Al Capone?
Could not be convicted on murders alone
so to make certain of his incarceration
they charged him with income tax evasion.
There are people who whoop and applaud
as Donald's associates are guilty of fraud.
They take for granted that Donald Trump
is guilty as well and is for the high jump.

© Luigi Pagano

It stinks

It stinks

Doesn't matter if anyone around him is indicted
Colluding with Russians or has fixed
Election results
For the 'candidate' they were working with
At the time- no, no links
And paying off play bunnies
Was just incidental
Never mind,
Any large corporations
That handed them tips.
Machinations and motives
Behind Governmental dealings
And don't get me onto Brexit.

© Amanda Derry

Tuesday, 21 August 2018

The Nation Today

(The police use stun gun on elder with knife)

It’s side-lined into a
narrow column – a small subtext,
the “also playing” beneath
the marquee

after 87 years of living
she was apt to wander,
in a bit of fog, no matter
the weather

Into a neighboring field,
a kitchen knife in hand
to collect dandelions in
a plastic bag

for tea, or a salad,
or to wilt, forgotten
on a kitchen counter

on this day, while she cut some
weeds with her knife, tucked them
into her bag, the police grew in
the clearing

they felt threatened by
this slow-moving Syrian
woman, short and stout
with the gray hair

under a brown scarf
who didn’t speak English,
who couldn’t understand
what they wanted from her

and so they acted in the
spirit of the day - in the
climate change that we have
grown accustomed to

tasered her with a blast to the chest –
where she fell among her weeds
certain she had been shot
certain she had made a terrible mistake

© Lianne Kamp

Police use Taser on 87-year-old woman cutting dandelions with a knife

Lianne Kamp resides in Boston, Massachusetts. Her poems and short stories appear in assorted print journals and on-line publications including: Poets Reading the News, Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, Scarlet Leaf Review, Poetry Quarterly, Dual Coast Magazine, and a number of Prolific Press anthologies. She writes poetry to make her world-view more panoramic by examining it more closely.

Broken Dreams

Broken Dreams

There you are Silent Sam
high on your base
Icon of slavery
long out of place
here we come, Silent Sam,
history’s cast
we’ve come to shatter
effronteries past.

Down you come, Silent Sam,
winds of change blowing
Confederate Daughters
weep prayers at your going
staggering - tumbling
- last bugle call
down you come, Silent Sam,
Silent Sam fall.

© S. O. Fasrus

North Carolina: protesters pull down Confederate statue at university

Perfect timing

Perfect timing

I am all in favour of flexibility,
it my idea of serendipity.
It would suit me fine
to start at nine
and finishing at nine-0-five
would be divine.

© Luigi Pagano

Monday, 20 August 2018

On A Day Trip

They finished their brunch
and went for a walk
but the wife got annoyed -
said: ‘We need to talk.

I know Beans on Toast
Is a dish you love well
but go to the Gents, Hun,
coz boy, do you smell!”

“Sure would If I could,”
says husband, shame-faced,
“but they closed public lavvies
so now I’m disgraced.”

“Well move well away,”
said the wife, who was classy.
“and hold it all in
till we find you a khazi….”

© S.O. Fasrus

Reality Check: Public toilets mapped

S.O. Fasrus: Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

Food for thought

Food for thought

Come on U.K. citizens, you better hurry
and drop the dishes you've appropriated:
tikka masala; tandoori; and vindaloo too.
They are Indian recipes - not British curry -
and therefore don't belong to you.

© Luigi Pagano

Pug Appeal

Pug Appeal

The Pug said my owner’s a Nazi,
he gave me a
Hitler salute,
with a finger moustache
I was off like a flash
to hide,
lest he put in the boot.

Last night I endured Nazi training,
this indoctrination is vile;
I salute with my paw,
please call in the
I’ve now got to bark the Sieg Heil.

© S. O. Fasrus

‘Nazi Pug’ Comedian Count Dankula Vows to Defy Court in Freedom of Speech Spat

Sunday, 19 August 2018

That Was the MUSE That Was

Cave Rescue, July 2018

A team of boys, a party in a cave,

the sudden flood that would not let them leave;

a football coach who sacrificed his food,

taught meditation to enhance their mood

and keep them strong. The never-ending wait

for news of rescue, parents desperate.

Collective prayer, by those of every faith

and none. A world that watched and held its breath;

a rescue mission, scrupulously planned

with diverse knowledge flown from distant lands;

a man who lost his life but not in vain,

his part a vital linkage in the chain

that, ultimately, brought them all out - safe,

a modern miracle, a world’s relief.

© Jenni Wyn Hyatt

'I was really afraid': Thai football team on their ordeal and rescue - video

Jenni Wyn Hyatt was born in Wales in 1942. She now lives in Derbyshire, and started writing poetry in her late sixties. Jenni published her first collection, 'Perhaps One Day' in 2017.

Saturday, 18 August 2018

A Grave Mistake

(Rhyme commemorating the unveiling of The Poet William Blake’s newly engraved gravestone 12th August 2018 - Bunhill Fields - London)

A grave mistake
a grave mistake
where is the grave
of William Blake?

It could be here
It could be where
under the fig tree
- over there?

There is a stone
and an explanation
his resting place
an approximation

Sleuths to the test
‘location’s defective -
we’ll seek his plot,’
said the Grave Detectives.

With records of bodies
lowered and raised
the graveyard clerks
were highly praised

Then at last at last
they found the right spot
with William and wife
and seven on top,

for others were sharing
Blake’s resting place
paupers all,
the likely case.

Now it’s twenty-eighteen
there’s a celebration
a new gravestone
and a restoration.

A grave mistake
a grave mistake
but a wrong was righted
for William Blake.

© S. O. Fasrus

How amateur sleuths finally tracked down the burial place of William Blake

S.O. Fasrus: Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

Friday, 17 August 2018

'They were just nice people'

A De-Kooning stolen in an art gallery
In Tuscon, Arizona
Over thirty years ago.

A couple walked into the gallery
Then disappeared
A torn gap where 'Woman-Ochre'
Used to be.

Respectable in their town
They had been teachers,
He'd written stories
Including 'The Missing Emerald'.

The painting was in their bedroom,
Positioned so only they could see it
Once doors were closed,
Clues gradually leading to the story.

A painting only seen by two sets of eyes
For over thirty years;
Perhaps worth it for their enjoyment?
Then discovered when clearing the Estate.

When the FBI questioned people who knew them:
Surprise - they couldn't steal anything
"They were just nice people,"
Their nephew said.

© Amanda Derry

Amanda Derry joined a Creative Writing class, following a breakdown, which played a significant role in her recovery. She now embeds literacy skills into classes that she teaches. Amanda also runs the Facebook Group, I Love Writing.

Digging for gold

Digging for gold

The gold ring that was lost
has been found on a carrot.
I wonder if this vegetable
is now measured in carats.

© Luigi Pagano

Thursday, 16 August 2018


A Basko supermarket lorry is stood

on the brink of the drop

where the bridge fell away.

The wheels were due to cross to that section,

clonk-clink any second.

The driver thought the roar was thunder

or a bomb blast

and through his rain-swashed windscreen

saw the lorries and cars in front

fall away,

waterfalling into air.

He stamped his foot on the pedal

just in time,

hauling on his hand brake.

Was he listening to latest hits on the radio,

that excitable Italian patter between songs?

Was he talking on a hands-free

or following his sat-nav for the next delivery?

The lorry is stationary

and only metres

from the broken edge.

He didn’t turn it round,

thinking the rest of the bridge

must be about to go down too,

So he stepped out of the cab

locked it

and walked back along the highway

wondering at every step if that would collapse

under him

but better to run back

than risk reversing his employer’s vehicle

when somebody might come up behind.


We are all that driver

poised on a drop

to a broken world

and making decisions

as I am today

wondering what may be about to happen

what the next phone call might bring

if the test results have been analysed

and if it’s a No or a Yes

and what the consequences will be.

My lorry is stationary

and only metres

from a broken edge.

© Rebecca Gethin

Genoa bridge collapse: At least 26 dead as emergency services scramble to find survivors

Rebecca Gethin lives on Dartmoor in Devon. In 2017 two pamphlets were published: A Sprig of Rowan by Three Drops Press and All the Time in the World by Cinnamon Press who published an earlier collection and two novels. She has been a Hawthornden Fellow. In 2018 she jointly won the Coast to Coast Pamphlet competition and has been awarded a writing residency at Brisons Veor.

From Russia with barb

From Russia with barb

At the Fringe Alyokhina and the Pussy Riot
show that friends of Vladimir they are not.
They indulge in loud screaming and rants
and sing songs like “Putin peed his pants”.

© Luigi Pagano

We Are Snowflake

We Are Snowflake

We are softy snowflakes
all out on our own
nazis say we're white and wet
they are hard as stone.

Quell the dread, if big boots tread,
we melt and form a torrent
dissolve and merge - look out we surge
when nazis are the current.

© S. O. Fasrus

Hungary’s Leader Was Shunned by Obama, but Has a Friend in Trump

Wednesday, 15 August 2018

Boris the Chameleon

I'm Boris The Tory
Born in a leaf of gold.
My ancestors The Liz'ards'
Here before money evolved.
I can change my colour to reflect
who I am,
To shock or amuse any creature or man.
I want to blend with the popular crew,
Bide my time then change my hue.
I want your attention
I want your eyes,
It's nothing to do with being worthy or wise.
See me! See me! I have this need,
It makes me wealthy living on greed.
If you can't out shine me then don't even try,
I don't care if you live or die.

© Debbie Smith

Boris Johnson’s burqa remarks are no surprise – his misogyny goes far back

Debbie Smith is from Bristol. She loves words and poetry and is a bit political. Currently active in trying to keep the loos and libraries open. Watching our Politics.

Caught Short

Caught Short

There was a desperate young Poet in Abergavenny
Who could find nowhere in town to spend a penny.
Swansea was the same .
But who was blame?
The Councils have turned Britain into a looless tyranny.

© Phil Knight

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

In Gaza

I don't know how the telly can hold them,
those snuff movies of dead babies
suffocated in tents, or bomb-blown limbless.

I don't know why it doesn't sodding explode
when women, young boys, (men, i suppose)
never move again, but lie in blood and dust.

It should begin with a low growl rising towards
a wail that smothers the fucking applause
from cold-eyed shooters and spectators.

It should shake with sorrow, with electronic rage,
bust its volume control, cause local grid outage
in protest, then with maximum impact, blow out,

the fragments rat tat tatting as they travel widely
though the streets of our bloody-handed country;
etched on each burning part - a name, a town, a life.

© Cath Campbell

Three dead as Israel and Hamas trade heavy fire across Gaza border

Cath Campbell is a Northumbrian poet who loves eating, dog walking, and the sea. She has an MA in creative writing from Newcastle university, and has had poems published in several magazines, including Prole, Obsessed With Pipework, Erbacce, and IAmNotASilentPoet. She also has a poem published in #MeToo, a woman's poetry anthology.

Monday, 13 August 2018


I hear them speak of writer’s block. They say
they haven’t been inspired to write today.
The words just haven’t come, they grin and sigh:
‘We’ve plenty other days when we can try.’

I do not have those other days. No time
for luxuries like writer’s block are mine.
I cannot leave the page blank for an hour:
be silenced by disease or by its power.

I cannot wait for inspiration’s voice.
I have to write. I have no other choice,
or time, already cruel, will twist the knife
and cut me off before I’ve shared my life.

The words must come. There is no time to lose.
For me, the Reaper has become my Muse.

© Fran Hill

Fran Hill is a writer and English teacher based in Warwickshire, UK.

Overcrowded Cornwall

Overcrowded Cornwall

I am really sorry but Cornwall is full
I know it is lovely, a holiday pull
But too many people have come for the sun
And stopped it from being a place of real fun
There's far too much traffic, and tourists in cars
Cause chaos and somehow the ambience mars
We can't get to work, we are frequently late
Emergency vehicles in queues have to wait
And so Visit Cornwall says please don't come here
Perhaps visit Devon? It's lovely, and near!

© Lesley Webb

Cornwall hit by 'tourist overcrowding' amid UK heatwave

Ezra Pounded

Ezra Pounded

Gertrude Stein said Ezra Pound's
a village explainer, all around
less intellect than verbal spillage
though perfectly fine if you're a village!

© S. O. Fasrus

Ezra Pound wrote the world’s single greatest poem, but is it wrong to love a fascist?

Sunday, 12 August 2018

To wish President Madura, his family the best

President Madura in his splendor
Faced an enemy to whom he could not surrender.
Not even in the famous – no-go-areas!

The city square shaded by red or steel barriers.
The President spoke to the still lines of soldiers
Who watched with skepticism the drones’ approach.

“I’m alive and victorious,” claimed the President,
After two explosions, and the enemy poached!
By military shots, in quick reproach, on a man

Intent on his Grand-daughter’s celebration,
Than on this strange metallic invasion.
Which brought a grim revelation -

Of his mortality, of wounded men,
That power corrupts, that courage can,
The race is to be run, not finished, nor already run!

(c) Rosalind J. Lee

Venezuela's Nicolás Maduro survives apparent assassination attempt

Saturday, 11 August 2018

The Great Escape

We made a plan
We fixed the date
We escaped straight through the garden gate
We caught the bus, the number three
Two old codgers, Klaus and me
We’d read the papers and we’d seen
The Metal Fest
We both were keen
We made a plan
We fixed the date
The number three was running late
But we arrived eventually
And sneaked in past security
I cast aside my zimmer frame
Klaus, my pal he did the same
We banged our heads and got on down
Two old geezers on the town
And like magic we were 23
Klaus my mate and his mate me
The music stopped we cried encore
"Judas Priest man we want more"
Then through the crowd our carers came
The bubble burst but all the same
I’ll have that memory until I die
Judas Priest and Klaus and I

© Bex Tate

Bex Tate is frustrated with the data driven education system, left behind her teaching job. She now spends her time writing, pondering life and wonderińg what to do next. Writing poetry helps her to try and make sense of the world as well as giving her the chance to rant a bit!!



A Wholphin is having a whale of a time
smiling while diving in ocean brine
with a prominent beak
a blue-grey streak

and a blowhole:0

© S. O. Fasrus

Baby- Eichhörnchen 🐿

Baby- Eichhörnchen 🐿

A squirrelette who'd lost her mum
Got Friedrich von Bloggs on the run
The little mite
Caused such a fright
The Police were called to put things right

© Bex Tate

Sand Ahoy!

Sand Ahoy!

Ostrich Syndrome's on the rise,
heads up daft-bird - open eyes
Far Right’s out to organise:


© S. O. Fasrus

Friday, 10 August 2018

To a Prescient Poet

Heinrich Heine are you listening?
as the sinister sound
of history repeating itself
reverberates around Bloomsbury

Do you see our future?
as our books
the defenders of freedom
and upholders of truth
are attacked and destroyed

Do you weep for us?
as you must have wept
when your own words were burnt in 1933
long after your death

Do you despair?
that we fail to mark
your words of 1822

“that where they burn books
they will in the end
burn human beings too”

© Jo Wright

Jo 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.

Birds of a feather

Birds of a feather

The people of Barnstaple saw
a seagull with pink feathers
and exclaimed “by jingo!”
we hope that he hasn't mated
with a flaming flamingo.

© Luigi Pagano

Polar Bear Share

Polar Bear Share

Phoney baloney
life can be shite
stuck on a mini size
ice cube all night.

Big fluffy coat -
destined to swelter,
iceberg floats by
arse; it's a melter!

© S. O. Fasrus

Thursday, 9 August 2018

Anniversary Edition

The rebirth of Poetry24 - A celebration by Luigi Pagano

When Poetry24 ceased publication
the decision caused consternation
and, personally, I was distraught
for having lost an invaluable slot
in which to showcase my verse.
The crisis couldn't be any worse,
I reflected, sad and disheartened.
Then I learnt that it'd be restarted
with a new poem by Hamish Mack.
I was so glad that it would be back
and I could put my brain into gear.
I also thought that many would cheer
the re-apparition of a good platform
that had taken all writers by storm
with a new concept absolutely fine:
poetry inspired by a news headline.
Now it is doing well after a pause
and all editors deserve applause
for breathing life into this site
and putting authors in the limelight.
So thank you to Martin and Clare
and to who the burden did share:
Abigail Wyatt and Hamish Mack,
whose contribution was never slack.

© Luigi Pagano 2018

Luigi Pagano has published three collections of poems: ‘Idle Thoughts’, ’Reflections’ and ‘Poetry On Tap’. His work has been featured in ABCTales’ magazines, UKAuthors’ anthologies, Poetry24 and several other publications.

Boris on Burkas

Boris on Burkas

No need to apologise
I’ve tried a burka on for size
silky black with a slot for eyes

Bags of style but slightly dangerous
hope you all won’t think me traitorous

Comfort, and covert and floaty
Hope this doesn’t get your goaty

© S. O. Fasrus

Tory peer: Remove whip from Boris Johnson over burka remarks

Wednesday, 8 August 2018

Apocalypse Every Day

(Spiky - by Georgia Bowden - Acrylic/Mixed Media 2012)

Cremate your sons in forests blazing
bake bread in the midnight air
peg washing in the hurricane
clamour for the dew

Clamour for the dew
bake bread in the midnight air
cremate your sons in forests blazing
peg washing in the hurricane

Bake bread in the midnight air
clamour for the dew
peg washing in the hurricane
cremate your sons in forests blazing

Peg washing in the hurricane
cremate your sons in forests blazing
clamour for the dew
bake bread in the midnight air

© S. O. Fasrus

S.O. Fasrus: Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

Shadow boxing

Shadow boxing

Boris isn't known
to sit on the fence.
So a few people
took offence
when he chose
to compare
what some Muslim
women wear
to a letter box
and he wasn't
talking of socks.

© Luigi Pagano

Tick (Haemaphysalis longicornis)

Tick (Haemaphysalis longicornis)

We don’t need a mate to breed
nips of blood is all we need
scarlet lips from little sips
once we’re bloated to our tips

Sated well before you’ve caught us
we’ll spill out a thousand daughters
daughter ticks will cling to you
Spill out all their daughters too.


© S. O. Fasrus

5 Things to Know About the New Tick Species in the US

Tuesday, 7 August 2018

St Tropez lifeboat appeal founders

A super-yacht with ‘ice class’ hull
moves through uncharted waters
30 days without restocking.

£55m and we’ll call it a deal.
Want something lower?
3m buys your own submarine.

Super-rich individuals
seek remoteness,
just want adventure.

Remoteness includes refusing to pay
for a new lifeboat in St Tropez.
Like Titanic, you know you’ll never need it.

© Sue Norton

Sue Norton has had poems published in various magazines. She was a prizewinner in the 2017 Rialto/RSPB Nature Poetry competition.

Strictly Speaking

Strictly Speaking

Strictly Come Dancing
will strictly adhere
To strictly mixed couples
in spite of the year
In two thousand and eighteen
I find this surprising-
Strictly ‘s ratings may drop
And Mr. Cowell’s
may start rising!

© Bex Tate



I'm Latrodetus from Texas
looking for a mate
With my hour glass figure
i'm an interesting date
I have legs to die for
a home of finest thread
My beautiful red embelishment
will entice someone to bed
Love making out of this world
from which you wont recover
A truly fatal encounter
Your Arachnid Widow Lover.

© Debbie Smith

Inspired indirectly, by the tale of a love-seeking tortoise called Dirk, and a poem by S.O. Fasrus

Kipper Choir Practice

Kipper Choir Practice

On the rocks between a hard place
Excavating for a deal
Vicar’s daughter to the
trews like Emma Peel

Sturgeon, Juncker, Macron, Merkel
Brexit talks are very
walking through a minefield
There’ll be laughs at our expense

What’s the story what’s the
What’s the
story Tessa May
If our
dreams are dashed forever
You’ll be sorry, Tessa May

© S. O. Fasrus

Dirk from the Galapagos

Dirk from the Galapagos

(70 yr old big guy seeks a big built female to bring him out of his shell)

An early riser and a keen forager
naps a lot, semi-submerged in mud or water
Sexually forceful (rough love - guaranteed to lift partner off her feet)
but very experienced after practising on a boulder for 40 years
non-possessive. - leaves after sex

some travelling in the early hours.
usually asleep before sunset but known to wander off to watering holes in the middle of the night.
Looking to breed? Big Dirk from the Galapagos is waiting.

© S. O. Fasrus

Giant male Galapagos tortoise looking for love

Monday, 6 August 2018


Benefits Breakfast

a breakfast meal can be a thrill
if the food bank can comply
Eggs and bacon, you're mistaken
it's tins of beans in big supply
Bread a bit stale
Spread a bit pale
but given to me for free
I'm happy to share if you care
all washed down with a mug of tea.

Breakfast at the Commons

It's not uncommon at the commons
for kippers to appear
with door step toast and duckling roast
subsidized by commoners me dear
Egg benedict and mushrooms sweet
Bacon, hashbrowns a real nice treat
Share with you? not today
it's on the expense sheet all the way.

© Debbie Smith

Universal Credit 'Wrecking Lives' As Thousands Take Out Emergency Loans

Debbie Smith is from Bristol. She loves words and poetry and is a bit political. Currently active in trying to keep the loos and libraries open. Watching our Politics.

The cup that cheers

The cup that cheers

The Willow Tea Room
designed by Macintosh
was thought at the time
to be utterly posh.
When it opened, the salon
had a sculptural relief
by Mackintosh's wife,
a hand-painted gesso.
The Room was famous
for brewed tea leaf
but to their patrons
did not serve espresso.

© Luigi Pagano

Nursing Home Metallers Rock

Nursing Home Metallers Rock

They had a quick nap
they put on the kettle
but who can resist
the call of the metal

The leathers were out
for Nocturnal Rights
Judas Priest leading
headbanging nights

'Helmet' and 'Doro'
It’s Wacken for us
we’ll head back tomorrow

© S. O. Fasrus

NB:'Helmet' on the Headbangers Stage last night of Wacken

Sunday, 5 August 2018

Sexual Assault Debate

We fly or fight or freeze,
not everyone agrees -
when dealing with assault
we cannot always bolt

Some take immediate action
but shock can slow reaction
there’s truth in every faction
it’s good to raise the question

Some massive; major; minor
but no, she’s no mere whiner
degree and context matter
and please consult the data

© S.O. Fasrus

S.O. Fasrus: Social Justice Campaigner & Social Research Interviewer. Her verse and poems; some comic; satirical; and serious; can be found online. Recent poems are in New Verse News, Culture Matters, and Poems for Grenfell Tower.

Saturday, 4 August 2018

Driving to the End of the World

Driving to the end of the world,
the end times approach

Driving through the smoke filled air
North of Mt Shasta,
heart of bigfoot country

End of the world images
fill my head with dismal
end of the world visions.
The apocalypse is upon us

The wicked evil as hell
blood red sun
leers at me with an evil grin

Screaming at me,
"what fools these mortals be"

Global climate change
is as real as the smoky fires
that burn and burn and burn

As our leaders turn turn turn away
They can’t handle the truth,
they will sacrifice all life on earth

So the oil and coal barons,
the so-called masters of the universe,
can make their obscene profits,
sending the rest of us to hell.

© Jake Aller

Carr Fire in California becomes 7th most destructive fire in state history

John ("Jake") Cosmos Aller is a retired US State Department diplomat currently residing in South Korea. He served in 10 countries in his 27-year career. Prior to his diplomatic service, he taught ESL, Asian Studies and Government in Korea, and served as a Peace Corps volunteer in Korea. He grew up in Berkeley, California and his poetry is heavily influenced by the Bay Area. For more "Jake" poetry, writings and political rants, check out

Shoes for Dogs

Shoes for Dogs

Our feet are roasting said the Spaniel
heatwaves are too much to handle -
the shoes they gave us aren’t so hot
but they do the job and help a lot.

© S. O. Fasrus