Dash Literary Journal is having its launch on 21 May. My poem, “Leavings,” will be in this issue. I am thinking of recording my croaky voice on mp3 and sending it to them to play at the launch. Hahahaha. How to scare an audience from the other side of the world. I won’t be posting the poem here in the hopes that readers would go and order a copy of the journal. Yeah right.
Monthly Archives: April 2009
PHILIPPINES. Five lines of text
about earthquake and flood in
Mindoro. Children drowned and
left hanging in trees. My country
in five lines, no more.
PILIPINAS. Limang linya ng teksto
tungkol sa lindol at baha sa Mindoro.
Mga batang nalunod at naiwang
nakabitin sa mga puno. Ang aking
bansa sa limang linya, hindi lalabis.
These were written at the same time on 21 April 1995.
This is an excellent ad – makes more sense if you live in South Africa though. Even funnier is the response from the ANC Youth League.
This ad is not as good as the one they did over ten years ago when news of ever-increasing incidents of violent crime was the biggest fear among South Africans. If I remember right the ad has something like a boot camp where they train chickens to fight crime. Someone shouts out “Attack! Attack!” and you get this low shot of chickens running. Simple and hilarious. Can’t find it on YouTube though.
February 21, 1933 – April 21, 2003
Strange how someone you’ve never met can break all borders and defences. All you have to do is listen. One day I will write something about never meeting Nina Simone.
No apologies. No legal action. Anything goes. Whatever you did in the past is water under the bloody bridge.
US President Obama’s statements regarding the CIA’s treatment of “terrorism suspects” is simply disgusting however you look at it. It is consistent with what previous US administrations have done in the past century to people within American borders and those living in different parts of the world. Can you hear the sound of rattling bones?
It seems forgetting is a disease that quickly latches on even the most seemingly pro-human rights political leaders of the world. Is the time for dreaming and hoping over?
Imagine if the same policy were used throughout the world. Orwell’s Animal Farm comes to mind.
Obama accused of “condoning torture”
17 April 2009
US President Barack Obama has been accused of “condoning torture” following his announcement that CIA agents who used harsh interrogation techniques on terrorism suspects will not be prosecuted.
Amnesty International has called on the US administration to initiate criminal investigations and prosecutions of those responsible for carrying out acts of torture, including waterboarding, in its “war on terror”.
“President Obama’s statements in the last days have been very disappointing. In saying that no one will be held to account for committing acts of torture, the US administration is in effect condoning torture,” said Daniel Gorevan, of Amnesty International’s Counter Terror with Justice campaign.
“It’s saying that US personnel can commit acts of torture and the authorities will not take any action against them.
APOLOGIES. This poem had to be removed pending publication in a magazine.
I have become increasingly concerned about the abuse of your powers displayed in your brazenly obvious political double standards. About your attempts, under the guise of regulating British charities, to police the democratic efforts of political activists in Britain in a way never envisaged by parliament. About your preparedness to waste large sums of public money in political stunts, either at the behest of others or in the hope that you are properly anticipating their wishes. And above all, in the context of this issue, your almost laughably obvious prejudice against the Palestinian cause and against Britain ‘s two million-strong Muslim community.
A very good friend from another part of the world told me about this video.
I could hear them, those sparrows
as they called to each other
outside my window. Their shadows
dancing on my eyelids, light
A breeze finds the slenderest gaps,
reaches my skin. Morning gathers
momentum, bursts silently
upon the ledge. I sense it
like the small hand
Of my daughter
just before she draws
wobbly circles on the soles
of my feet.
Front teeth on grey concrete,
cry stilled by wonder. Silence
between shock and pain
displaced. Clouds knuckle-white
hovered. The choice was there
to shatter further.
She picked up those teeth, her teeth,
unhinged doors of a toy car.
Her tongue groped for shards
that clung to flesh.
Her hand grew immense,
gathered sky, road,
and all of her into one
How she stared down
at every one.