Genetic Unmarking
Beneath empty plaques and unmarked plots, the misplaced dead lie resting. The blankness of their generic monuments a simple sleight of hand: these fragmented piles
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Beneath empty plaques and unmarked plots, the misplaced dead lie resting. The blankness of their generic monuments a simple sleight of hand: these fragmented piles
Illegal logging in community forests, Oil drilling in indigenous territories, Mining concessions in native soils, These have become our warzones. Activists hailed as terrorists, While
On the night that Titus fell His night nest was not empty, Not empty, but silent. His body still warm, Still warm to receive The
Launched into space like puppets on a string, These metal ships danced fiercely on the waves; Such precious cargo was held deep within, Laden with
In Africa there is a killer Queen Engaging in a spot of filicide; Where two sub-species meet in zones between Their habitats, all male offspring
Whilst it is certain that we all must die, Why is it that we must grow old with age? Our final acts upon this mortal
Hiram Maxim was born in Maine, Embarking down a path which that Gave us a gun that bore his name, Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat. The British
You reflect happily on times gone by, On parents that raised you the best they could. Her early life was damaged; you won’t pry.