Snake Song. A Poem by Saira Viola

 
When you take on the law
She’ll screw you ‘till you bleed
But you’ll go begging back for more
She’ll lead you on
With fast ,pretty talk and gold in her mouth
Ants will hiss in your milk
While you wait for that bitch’s next move
And you’ll play sophisticated psycho games
And sob – sob just like a dumpster babe
Your heart will stop – clock three beats
And you’ll be her court jester
As she slams you to the ground over and over until you break
Then she’ll silence your cock with a money threat
Hushing you still
And you’ll shake with fear as she whispers in your ear
Gimme Gimme Gimme
More cash for this bastard farce
Her ‘Honour,’ lives in a white world
She sees Justice delivered only for respectable boys and girls
The only ones permitted to drink from the font
Ask the Angola Three
What Amerikan ‘justice,’ means
She likes them to beg , crawl on their swollen knees
For a regal punch in the belly
Wrap her protective arms around you
Then : cuff you to her gavel
Strap you to a chair
Blind you with deceit
Shackle your aching feet
And let your ears sing for mercy.

 
 
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Saira Viola ia a best selling crime writer , satirist, song lyricist and creator of innovative lit technique sonic scatterscript. Her work is infused with undercurrents of politics, pop philosophy and black comedy
 
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artobscene
Saira Viola, Author at GonzoToday
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Saira Viola is a critically acclaimed poet , author, song lyricist , satirist and creator of innovative lit technique self labelled sonic scatterscript .

 
 
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My European Jaunt, Radio, Nameplate | Poems by John Grey

European Jaunt Radio Nameplate Poems

MY EUROPEAN JAUNT

When I traveled through Europe,
every woman in every hotel in which I stayed,
was either young and beautiful
or very old and white-haired and a countess.
There were no in-betweens.
Nor was there a middle ground
between opera at La Scala in Milan
and the accordion player in the outdoor cafe
off the Champs-Elysees in Paris.
No gruesome pop music.
No third-rate rock bands warbling
in cut-rate English.
It was either grand divas or atmosphere
and nothing else.
I watched Real Madrid play soccer
and kicked a ball around a piazza
with some Italian kids.
I toured fabulous palaces
and the modest houses
of two or three of my on-the-road companions.
I admired the young and beautiful women from a distance
and I sat back enthralled
when the ancient countesses held court.
I was in thrall to Tosca’s splendors
and yes, a sip of latte, a bite of croissant
and a touch of the Edith Piafs
was like the perfect zip code
to my travails in France.
I roared with the crowd.
I laughed with the figliolos.
And Versailles is everything they say it is
while Angelique’s abode is charming.
Okay, I confess,
I did slip into a McDonalds once.
But the girl behind the counter was young and beautiful.
And, at a back table, an ancient countess
dipped French fries in ketchup.
Besides, I was only there to use the bathroom.
I swear to you, no hamburgers were consumed
in the making of this poem.

RADIO

They gathered around the radio then.
Dinner over with, the family retreated to the parlor.
Father turned the knob. Transistors slowly
hummed to life. The solitary speaker cleared its
throat. Then came a singer, female, rousing,
sending the boys off to war with loud and patriotic tonsils.

She had no face, no body, but in their heads she did.
Father rode her cleavage with every high note.
Mother saw her brassy, blonde, but a good girl behind
the makeup. The daughter dreamed herself into high
heels and tight red dress but her vocals less a belter,
more seductive. To the son, she was America
singing right at him. By the time the number finished,
he was ready to fight.

It was still a time of bread-lines, soup kitchens.
Europe was a madhouse. Americans held their breath.
But they had cheesy song, they had kitsch,
they had what moved the heart, they had altos,
they had red hot mamas, they had torch singers,
and, if that didn’t stir, there was always
“God Bless America.”

The radio shaped the conversation.
It was Stars and Stripes,
It recruited.
It was a huckster selling war bonds.
It was a president’s crackling fire.
And when talk couldn’t convince,
on came a songstress from the heartland,
catchy numbers you could tap a bayonet to.

Boys died with tunes in their head.
Or they came home, notes rattled,
chords shredded, verses blotted out,
but the chorus, though wounded badly,
still on the tongue.
The radio welcomed them back into their old chair.
Their blood no longer needed,
they sang along to the hit parade.
Television was on the horizon.
Until then, a kind of victory would have to do.

NAMEPLATE

How sad the eye
roaming a brass nameplate.
Faithless vowels.
Consonants weeping over
rusty screws.
His elbow takes
one desultory shine
to what his mother
first called him
sixty years before.
It’s five o-clock in the afternoon,
a telling time for office furniture.
Computers shut down.
Drooped shoulders lift.
Coats on racks
fall into line
with grabbing fingers.
But a man on his last day
can barely push his chair back.
Much as he hates the place,
he has no wish
to emigrate.
He leaves the nameplate
where it is,
figures the company’s so cheap
they’ll hire another
Frank Smith,
just so they won’t have
to replace it.
Maybe that’s the new Frank Smith
he saw in Personnel,
coming in as he was going out.
So many Frank Smiths in the world.
A man tries to explain it
but a nameplate says it best.

Resonance. Poetry Collection by Gary Beck

Gary Beck is a prolific writer with a number of poetry collections already to his name. Much of his work has a clipped, concise almost journalistic narrative approach about it, it is their serial processing which gives them their poetic content. In this latest volume there is also sociological reflection and commentary but often the works become more moody, enriching the poetry style and form, involved in personal relationships, as well as, on various occasions expressing the sensuous side of the poet’s nature. – Editor Robin Ouzman Hislop.
 
Resonance is a collection of poems that looks at individual and cultural experiences from this complicated world in which some receive rewards but others are punished and pushed to the brink of despair.
 
“Mr. Beck is a talent not to be ignored.” – Alison McBain – Bewildering Stories
 
“Very impressive poems” -Dead Snakes Magazine
 
“The noir voice and objectivity of each piece is unique and exploratory, very delightful reads” -Media Virus Magazine
 
“Awesome! I love the language” -Graffiti Magazine

 

              Resonance image

          http://www.amazon.com/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck
           

              Gary Beck Image

           
          Resonance is a 136 page poetry volume. Available in paperback with a retail price of $8.00 and eBook with a retail price of $1.99. ISBN 1523916400 Published through Dreaming Big Publications. and available now through all major retailers. For more information or to request a review copy:DreamingBigPublications@outlook.com.
           
          This is the voice of one man singing… About the Cuban Missile Crisis – October, 1962
           
          Boy, dey yanked me outa the warmtha
          me mudders body.
          Wow, dey beat me when I played
          wit meself.
          Dey made me go to school
          and listen to all da crap.
          My old man kicked my ass
          when I played hookey.
          I went to high school,
          joined a gang.
          I got caught stealin.
          The cops beat me up.
          I quit school
          knocked up a broad
          and her old man made me marry her.
          We got two fuggin kids
          who never stop screamin.
          The fuggin house is fallin ta pieces.
          The fuggin union wants more dues.
          The snotty bastard at the bowling alley
          always makes these wise cracks.
          The fuggin phone company
          is shuttin off the phone.
          The old lady is a fuggin slob.
          After a hard day’s work
          I can’t even sit down and enjoy a fuggin can of beer.
          I hope they use their fuggin rockets.

           
          Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director, and as an art dealer when he couldn’t make a living in theater. He has 11 published chapbooks. His poetry collections include: Days of Destruction (Skive Press), Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press). Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays (Winter Goose Publishing). Fault Lines, Perceptions, Tremors and Perturbations will be published by Winter Goose Publishing. Conditioned Response (Nazar Look). Resonance (Dreaming Big Press). His novels include: Extreme Change (Cogwheel Press) Acts of Defiance (Artema Press). Flawed Connections (Black Rose Writing). Call to Valor will be published by Gnome on Pigs Productions. His short story collection, A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications). Now I Accuse and other stories will be published by Winter Goose Publishing. His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City.
           
           
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      Transforming with Hamza Lakhal. Inkwell Arts. Leeds. UK.

      Transforming Poetry
       
      Editor’s Intro: we spend an evening with Transforming Poetry at the Inkwell Arts Centre. Leeds. Uk. It is introduced by Tony Martin Woods, a Spanish born poet, who teaches Spanish studies at Leeds University and who has been resident with his English family in Leeds for the last 20 odd years. This month’s session of local poets focuses under the title heading Transforming with Hamza Lakhal, a Saharwi from the Western Sahara, now occupied by Morocco, to whome it was sold by the Spanish in 1975. Hamza’s poetry is presented in Arabic following classical Arabic lyricalism but with political, social reference to the oppression of his peoples in the Western Occupied Sahara. Some translations together with readings are provided by Hamza with the local poets. Further intro into the background is also given throughout the evening by different speakers and poets together with their own blend of preach, protest, diatribe political poetry, making for an interesting evening looking into the heart of the British Midlands. Robin Ouzman Hislop
       
      Hamza Inkwell Art
       
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