this poem is about silence
words get in the way of silenceit needs a blank pageit needs spacein silence there can be longingthere can be anticipationhostile intimate
you can hear itin the pin-drop moment between bow and string
you can feel it between breaths
the inarticulate use of violence for expressionis this silence?
can you say the sharp sickle moonthat glows on a dark winter sky is silent?
when one turns their back in silencesilence is palpableand what of a silence imposed in fear
silence can be loud
a silent protesteven without poster or placard is loud
when the powerless stitch their lips togetherwith needle and fishing lineis this silenceeven if tears still fall
evil thrives under silence
a poem about silenceneeds to be loudto be heard
Colleen Keating
Our crisis
You let them cryWith no sympathyYou let them dieWith no dignityYou trade their livesFor popularityYou trade their rightsLike they're property
You paint them as animalsThey've bled as humansYou lock them in jail cellsSilencing innocenceYou treat them as criminalsThey're your wars' victimsThey re-live their hellWhen they need protection
You condemn their persecutorsYou persecute them tooThey're not our crisisOur crisis is you.
Sarah George
Realpolitiky
There's a hint of resolution scattered on and off his face,his aura's a disgrace, he awaits a revolution.Better still, call it reform and apply a media blackoutand swiftly kick the hack out who would dare to question form
function, frame or dissolution. There's no grounds for appeal.if you have sufficient zeal you can hide any obtrusionon the body civic's mug. Spare a minister some change;let not perspective range over policy in fug.
The PM's poker face flickers like a faulty switch,he comes across as dense or kitsch when he obfuscates and dickersand the government succumbs, falt'ring under weight of business;Tony comes across as listless as he stuffs up stats and sums.
Hey there PM; keep your footing as the mess that oozes slickensup your path. Abuse still sickens, but you have the bogans rootingfor the bottom line of comfort and indifference to others.True, you give industries the 'smothers' but the cashed-up get the odd rort
and Australia for Australians is dog-whistled into mandate.Keep your shoes shined and your part straight and you'll make hay from the aliens,single mothers, uppity workers, bleeding hearts and pesky journos ...Give it up. All the world knows Tony hates the lefty shirkers.
There's a hint of satisfaction in the monolithic scowl.The 'drys' are on the prowl and the PM needs no faction.By the bedside shrine to Menzies, the evaporated scriptures,he plots against the fixtures and