Published poems

Donald Trump has got yellow eyes

Nothing so sensational about the Calais refugee camp evacuation, a poem I wrote about the Pas de Calais migrant evacuation is now up at I am not a silent poet (March 3, 2016). Many thanks to Reuben Woolley (I am not a silent poet) & Mari Lightman (Writers for Calais Refugees) for letting me take part in the poetry assault they are doing in response to what is happening in Calais.

Click here to read my poem: Nothing so sensational about the Calais refugee camp evacuation

Some other poems published in I am not a silent poet in response to Calais “Jungle” Evacuation:

wild jasmine by John Mackie

After the blaze by Kushal Poddar

279. courage to cross. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

Sightless Eyes by David Wilson

No one deserves to be teargassed, looking for shelter by Dave Rendle

One More Day 29/02/16 by Natalia Spencer

Nowhere Girl by Anshu Dhamiwal

Calais in October by Paul McElhinney

Dolphin, Fish.. Fuck It by Mike Bell

A History Lesson by Mandy Macdonald

Evacuate The Jungle by Kirstin Maguire

Calais Camping by F Smith

Life jacket by Dave Urwin

Anglophile (The Jungle) by David Wilson

not here / thoroughly by Reuben Woolley

Also be sure to check out Writers for Calais Refugees . A very good anthology to give read.

Thank you.


Published poems

You thought verb is everything


You thought verb is everything published in I am not a silent poet (January 20, 2016).

For Ashraf Fayad, the Palestine poet, artist and curator, 35, who has been sentenced to death by beheading in Saudi Arabia for writing poems.

Click here to read the poem: You thought verb is everything

Please sign the petition to free Ashraf Fayad

Free Ashraf, poet facing execution/Amnesty International

Thank you.


Published poems

at half-mast

I will take my life published in I am not a silent poet (January 17, 2016). Thank you Reuben Woolley!

Click here to read the poem : I will take my life

The recent passing of Samantha Hunt, a poet from Birmingham, UK, made me write this piece. I knew her only across her poems that had appeared on I am not a silent poet. Her words are now hanging “from a beautifully grotesque hook” to paraphrase her own words:

I was pulled in by strings.
Everything was blue, bitter blue.
The kind of blue that made me glad to
be alive.

Alive, she was piling words for us who think poetry is all about craftsmanship, word clouds, colonization of imaginative territory, etc. We did not realize alive, she was piling questions for herself and building her own death for the world. How can we just believe in poetry?

That blue was a/
brutal caress.
It’s not going to stop/
it’s not going to stop/
Skin. Skin was all that I had
A sugar paper quilt,
A translucent defence against the light/
Oh, the light. The light.

(From Drawing with light by Samantha Hunt  )

Who is at peace with the world when we say RIP? For us, mourning is the right time to pile questions and words to serve the moment, not before!

Here’s an extract from a poem called Letting go posted on her Facebook page on December 10, 2015:

It’s all over now, Baby Blue on repeat.
It’s the gentle hum of the nurse’s pen
as it grazes her notebook:
Zoplicone. Sertraline. Quetiapine. Duolextine.
One milligram. Two milligrams. Three
One of these snaps the synapses
back into shape, deadens the music;
fleshes the tree’s bones.

And here’s her New year post. She thought it summed things up nicely:

‘‘The so-calledpsychotically depressedperson who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quotehopelessnessor any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yellingDon’t!’ andHang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.” – David Foster Wallace

Thank you.

Published poems

Bright side of the earth

Bright side of the earth published in I am not a silent poet (December 30, 2015). This is perhaps my last publication of 2015. Again I feel proud to be a contributor of IANASP. This new blogzine has certainly found a niche with 45, 000 views in 2015. Congratulations to the crusading editor Reuben Woolley and to all my fellow contributors!

Click here to read the poem :Bright side of the earth

Thank you.