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 Oct 2015
Laura
it
it can strangle the ******
it can imbibe the fetus
with putrid roots of carrots
old rotten things
that stick.
busy these days.

fade. place into boxes.
political now.

hope the comments come shorter.

blasting . confine their fragile
history. while
outside they bleed.

a man helps another man,
another picture.

there is one pin left
for comfort. and
i am no younger.

sbm
 Oct 2015
Camila Vitrei
Once it came we fell for it,
Trough a journey of discoveries
The naked image of myself
Merged in the sparkle of our bodies.

And now like shattered piece of glass,
I feel the solitude of time,
The desperation in my mind
Grows like a flower in the grass

Yet I am grateful for this fate,
To leave behind a loving hand
That for a moment made me feel
The glorious warmth to be awake.
i wrote of blood, yet did not share it much.

you may think we share our hidden thoughts,

yet some remain. it is a pretty day, with a light frost

and stories of the northern lights.

we walked a while yesterday,

he was visiting his sister.

i came home,  fingers bled.

sbm.
 Oct 2015
Kush
Cheerful smiles and hearty laughs belie a monster's presence
False stories and impressions of grandeur contribute to an energy
A crackling spark of incandescence
For this beast is not one of tooth or claw
But something far more deliberate and precise
Ready with sarcasm dripping from the maw

A creature of charisma skilled in manipulation
Jaws primed to spew caustic venom
With a malicious intent for social *******
Its bright eyes quickly scan the room
Sorting the sheep and deciding on which's weaknesses to feed
Trusting this monster assures certain doom

It's a slithering fiend flexing predatory instinct
Composed of façades that are cleverly distinct
Thriving in thoughts of darkness and demise
Hissing lies from midnight to sunrise
Whose only desires are simply to make you bleed
The Psychopath is a snake indeed
The poem that got me in here
 Oct 2015
CA Guilfoyle
Nightfall, dark with planets
cold desolate sky home
stars amid nebulous winds swirling
cool icing, caked in frozen states
cynosure of volatile fates
the fiery red that melts blue
tonight a slow float of milk clouds
a diaphanous transient veil
drifts its way across
the moon so pale.
 Oct 2015
Camellia-Japonica
NO**
You shout this to the world, and the world turns still.
How dare the rain fall, a relative call.

How dare the earth turn, while you still yearn
How dare they laugh, while you still ache.

How dare the sun rise and night fall,
while you have no relief from the grief at all.

The wreaths are dead.
All has been said.
Copyright © JLB
11/10/2015
13:30 BST
 Oct 2015
PrttyBrd
it lies in wait
in the sighs after a statement
in the pause between words
hanging in the air
it looms overhead
thickening with each passing second
coating the lungs with heavy silence
yea, the silence
'tis wear dreams go to die
for when exposed to another
it's the silence
that is coagulated disillusionment
and it is in that place
that the silver in the clouds
begins to tarnish
10815
 Oct 2015
Rangzeb Hussain
Her name is Magda and this is her story.

Cast your mind to another time, another place...

The year is 1939 and the place is Germany. The night is cold, the wind howls and upon the strike of midnight there is a thunderous hammering upon the door where little Magda lives. It is the Gestapo, ******’s secret police, they arrest Magda’s father and send him to clear minefields for the German army. Her father has not committed any crime. He is a law abiding citizen who works hard and is a respected member of society. He is arrested because he happens to be Jewish.

Less than a year after the arrest Magda’s mother receives a letter which says her husband has been killed.

Then, on another wild and frightful night there is thunder once more upon the door. This time the soldiers arrive and take Magda, her mother and Magda’s brother George, who is only four-years old.

They are driven to the railway station and packed into a cattle truck with many other people. The floor of the tight compartment is slippery with cow dung, the walls greasy with grime and dirt, and the air hangs heavy with the stale sweat of fear. The prisoners pray silently.

Magda can feel the heat rising as time passes and her mouth and lips become dry. The air is becoming humid, people are gasping, some have fainted, others are weeping. Magda has no idea how long she has been trapped in this claustrophobic dungeon. Her throat burns but there is no water and no food, just slow and painful suffocation. The journey seems to be without end.

Finally, when she thinks she is about to faint, the train screeches to a halt. There are screams and shouts as the prisoners are pushed and shoved out of the carriages and marched towards the barbed-wire gates of the death camp that looms out of the morning fog. Soldiers stand at the sides pointing rifles at the new prisoners. Magda jumps back from when she sees a huge dog snap at her. The spittle from the dog’s foaming mouth flicks across her wrist and she shivers. She notices the sharp teeth and the raging eyes of the dog. The soldier tugs on the dog’s leash and laughs.

There are men in black leather uniforms who are separating the prisoners into two lines, one for men and one for women. Magda’s little brother George is torn from his mother’s arms and thrown into the line where the male prisoners are waiting. Her mother tries to fight her way through the soldiers but she is thrown back and falls into the mud. When she gets up she sees the line of men close around little George and he vanishes. This will be the last time Magda and her mother will ever see little George.

The seasons change, the world turns and time passes. The year is now 1944 and the prison is a place of hunger, thirst, disease and death. There is nothing but fear and sadness as family after family is killed for no other reason except that they are Jews.

Once more, on a stormy night, there is a scream in the night and Magda wakes up. She reaches over and touches her starving and skeletal mother, she searches for her mother’s warmth and her protection, but on this night when her fingers clutch her mother she finds only the cold. Her mother has passed away during the night.

The next day the Allied Forces arrive and liberate the death camp. Magda is free at last. Her frail body is thin but she has survived. She knows that her mother only lived as long as she did so that Magda would survive.

There is an ambulance waiting and Magda is driven to a hospital and from there she is given the very last seat on a plane bound for Great Britain. She arrives in Birmingham and is welcomed with open arms. The people are friendly, warm, kind and smile when they speak. Magda cannot speak English but in time she learns to read and write and soon she is living with a foster family who treat her with love.

Magda knows that in Germany she was not allowed to go out and play. Her mother could only go to one shop for a few minutes under armed guard. The family had no freedom and no protection. Things in England are different. She can go to school, visit shops and parks, spend time with friends and go to her place of worship without any fear.

Every week she goes to Steelhouse Lane Police station and gets her documents stamped. She can only stay in England if she is a student otherwise she will be deported to Germany.  Thus, Magda studies hard and hopes to go to college. She is still sad inside because she knows when her education ends she will have to return to Germany. Sergeant Roberts, from Steelhouse Lane Police station, smiles warmly and advises her, “Magda, if anyone ever asks you what it is that you’re studying, tell them you’re studying to be a grandmother.”

Once more time spins and this time eighty years have passed and the year is 2011 and the place is Birmingham Town Hall. An elegant lady walks onto the stage, the light bounces on her curly hair creating a silvery halo around her glowing face and the audience wait eagerly to hear her speak. She is calm, peaceful and her voice is clear despite her age. She carries no darkness or hate or vengeance, only love. She looks at the audience and smiles gently and says, “My name is Magda and this is my story...”



©Rangzeb Hussain
 Sep 2015
Nathan Wells
Try to love
anyone who needs it
who looks a little alone
and try love yourself
cause you can't see their goodness
until you see your own
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