Tag Archives: reblog

Against the Next War

I’m stunned. This is an absolutely brilliant poem. Paul Sunstone says it’s “possibly the very best anti-war poem I’ve ever read.” Possibly? POSSIBLY? Either he is a fool, or he’s too ignorant to be able to spell the word ‘undeniably’. Both, I suspect. The poem was written – and spoken – by Sarah at Fresh hell.

Fresh Hell

In response to CafePhilos’s call to make peace viral. A noble effort, and worth a try. Please give his post a read.

Trying to do a slam-style poem. I really hope the audio turned out OK on this. Apologies if it’s too quiet, I’m still figuring out how to make videos.


If I imagine them
Taking my brother away to war

I shatter.

I don’t want to lose anyone.
Especially not to something as stupid
As war.

Maybe you like the idea of war
Because you’ve confused real life with action movies.
Maybe you hate another group of people for what they have done.
I can’t convince you to forgive another’s atrocities
That is something you must grow into on your own.
But I can beg you this:

When dogs of war bark
Don’t feed them.
You will be told it is the honorable thing
To die for your…

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Olga Hopkins

A few days ago I casually challenged my fellow bloggers to have a go at an idea I came up with (which had probably already been invented, but I hadn’t heard of it). The challenge was to write a post using the first line of each of a batch of novels. I call it First Liners, or First Line Flash. Kate, at aroused, didn’t have any novels to hand, so – being a calm person – she calmly pulled together an excellent piece from the books around her – children’s books and self help books! You wouldn’t think it would work, but she did an amazing You won’t notice the seams unless you look for them..

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

For those of you who haven’t yet met him, I’d like to introduce my wonderful, talented friend Ivor. This is his latest poem. I love it, and I think you will, too:

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

A few days ago I had started writing a poem about Penny Farthing Bicycles, prompted by an article in the Geelong Advertiser newspaper, the arrival in Geelong of eight members of the Melbourne Bicycle Club in March 1880, as per featured picture above, courtesy of the Geelong Heritage Centre Collection. Then I was chatting with my friend Jane of Janebasilblog, she had just sent me the song and lyrics of the Mary Hopkin hit, “Those Were The Days”, from 1968, and I mentioned The Kinks were one of my fav’s from that era, and of course their song “Lola”. After our chat, I starting thinking [which is dangerous for me] about writing a crazy, combined, mixed up poem… The piece below is the result of those thoughts, and to my older readers, you’ll notice all the phrases written in Italic, are song titles taken from The Kinks album “The Kinks…

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Stirrings of the Mind

My thoughts have been a bit disordered lately, with the result that I keep starting poetry and not finishing it. None of it seems good enough. This morning, I woke up feeling insignificant. After doing a few things around the flat, I switched the computer on and decided I’d do a bit of reading. The first post I came to was written by Reena Saxina, and it changed my outlook.

Just like that.

I couldn’t miss the opportunity to share this lovely poem on my blog.

I hope it has a similar positive effect on my readers.

Reena Saxena

The incessant buzz

of thoughts that shatter

thoughts that inspire

thoughts that pass unnoticed

unnerve me.

My ideas are raw,

unfinished, unsophisticated

likely to be scorned

or laughed at.

I silence the voice.

The bees in my bonnet

have multiplied

they do not let me sleep

threatening an explosion

if not released.

Expression helps sanity

I am not God, but

it is nothing to be scoffed at

I have a sane voice

amidst loud, ungodly creatures.

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All Of The Pieces

Only four days after posting John T Wood’s ‘Poem for Everyone’ I’ve stumbled on another rare poetic treat. Written by Carol J. Forrester, it contains echoes of Wood’s poem – purely by chance, since Carol wasn’t aware of its existence until today – but tells a different story.

Carol J Forrester - Writing and Works

I’m far too good at handing over pieces of myself

and it’s a wonder that there’s any of me left to give.

Each time, I held my heart with both hands.

Shattered it with a white knuckle grip

and offered out the fragments like bon-bons,

melting and sticky in my palm.

I should have kept them closer,

away from those who saw only wrappers

and threw them aside without thought.

Others tucked them into corners

or placed them on shelves out of sight

out of mind.

No one realised I’d become a jigsaw.

Not until you.


Daily Prompt: Delivery

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