Angelina

Gary
never known for his subtlety
three pints in at The Anchor
half an eye still on the game
orders another lager

swigs
stands tall at the bar
and tells us all
this changes nothing
he wouldn’t kick her out of bed

hilarity
he’s no oil painting himself
never has been never will
shouts of he should be so lucky
in another life in his dreams

burst
of the old anglo-saxon
to put us in our place
and then the surprise
he takes a sip and asks us

imagine
the quacks went at your jewels
with a knife
to save your life
could you would you tell the world?

Gary
never known for his subtlety
three pints in at The Anchor
drinks the silence
nods and tells us

courage
looks and more balls
than all of us together that Lara
and then Gary orders another lager
half an eye still on the game.

© Steve Pottinger

Angelina Jolie has double mastectomy due to cancer gene

Steve Pottinger writes and performs poetry whenever and wherever he can. He has a website at stevepottinger.co.uk and can be found on twitter at @oneangrypoet

"Sarabjeet - The twenty two years"

In anticipation that hope,
would someday shine,
as bright as the sun of may,
and that the light of life,
would reach to him some day,
he continued to die,
each moment that came his way;

At last our neighbors,
friendly as they are,
turned kind,
for, forever, they couldn't be blind,
to a fellow human's plight;

At last they allowed him,
the breeze of his own field,
the air of his own compound,
what if, he now lay asleep,
in deep sleep and slept sound,
and needed air,
neither from the neighbor's,
nor from his own compound;

© Ajit Sherawat

Sarabjit comes home, dead

Ajit is presently working as a Preventive officer with customs and presently posted at Gurgaon. He follows his passion of writing ardently

Behind the Façade

We often speak of aliens abductions,
of people vanishing without a trace
and assume that creatures from Mars
have spirited them to an outer space.

There are stories and films galore
such as Cocoon and The Fourth Kind,
where the inhabitants of other worlds
have come to earth with evil in mind.

But let us forget the extraterrestrials
and concentrate on another scenario
the one enacted by one wicked man,
one calculating and sordid Lothario.

It was behind the respectable façade
of one dwelling in Seymour Avenue
where he committed a terrible crime,
one so abject that is now going to rue.

For a decade three young women captive
lived segregated from their loved ones.
They were negated the right to freedom
and the happiness they cherished once.

For the young ladies the nightmare is over
now that the villain has been unmasked
but to understand this strange situation
pertinent questions will have to be asked.

 
© Luigi Pagano

Cleveland rescue: The mystery of 2207 Seymour Avenue

Luigi Pagano is a contributor to Poetry24 and other websites. He has published three poetry collections the latest of which is Poetry On Tap (Available at Amazon.co.uk). 

Catwalking in Catastrophe

She wore a borrowed dress
Nor did her crown belong to her
Still, she looked beautiful
Stalking between vassal ranks
Of fawning, enchanted courtiers
Breathing a miasma of greed, lust, envy…
She spurned them all
At once a predator and a prey
Prowling zombie-eyed
Face a corpse-like mask,
Lips swollen as if gorged with blood…
Regal she turned, oblivious of her disciples,
Down the wolf-whistle, sighing walk
Back to the paint, powder and chaos
Of the real world…
Shedding her borrowed finery
Which would be catalogued and copied
To be sold for a pittance
In High-Street temples of commerce…
Laden with bags with escutcheons
Much more familiar…much more affordable
Than this unique Dolce-Gabbana creation
A bargain at a mere £32,000!
I doubt if the Saturday night revellers
Preening in their day’s purchases
Would give a moment’s thought to…
The price of the original…nor…
The nine hundred souls crushed under concrete
Erected carelessly by inefficiency and greed
Working fourteen hours for coppers
Making cheap copies of such ‘borrowed’ dresses
Nor of the starving Syrian child
Staring at us in fear and bewilderment
Sharing the page with this icon of consumerism.

© Peter Flint

Refugees Fleeing Syria are ‘Mostly Kids’
Woman rescued after 17 days in Bangladesh rubble
$32,000 Dolce & Gabbana Dress

The poem arose out of the juxtaposition of a Dolce-Gabbana dress which sold for $32,000 with the image of a starving Syrian child.  In the same newspaper it was reported that the death toll in the collapse of a clothing factory in Pakistan had risen to five hundred and that the designer had been arrested and charged.  He had allegedly added several floors to the original plan at the owner’s request.

Aleppo

An old man sits in the town square
smokes his pipe, reads his paper
feigns normality
in the place where sirens blare;

a hundred dead a day.

A young man kneels in the dirt
where his brother was shot in the head
on an errand to buy milk
in the place where shells split air;

a hundred dead a day.

An old woman wails on the doorstep
of her rubbled home with
fourteen family members gone
in the place where bodies rot in the sun;

a hundred dead a day.

 A young woman kisses the bloodied face
of her husband, his body three weeks
dead and decomposed
in the place where snipers pick off people as bait;

a hundred dead a day.

An old man tries to tell the tragedy
but can only sigh and gasp, his pain
flailing the words to pieces
in the place where grief is certain as night;

a hundred dead a day.

Children don’t play outside anymore,
the park full of bodies buried
in makeshift unidentified despair
in the place where war avenges its bidding;

a hundred dead a day.

A group of old men play chess
in a spot of the town not far
from the river that deposits human detritus
in the place where gravediggers shovel endlessly
to close the gaping maw of death;

hundreds dead in days.

© Siobhan McLaughlin

The River Martyrs

Siobhan is an aspiring poet who chases many muses with avid enthusiasm. She is of the firm belief
that words can change the world. Her blog is: www.a-blog-of-ones-own.blogspot.com and her Twitter is: @siobhan347