Conversations in a Radicalised System

Tony O’Halloran Conversations in a Radicalised System ‘Settle down. Stop fighting for your gods, They can’t hear you now, Not with the noise of your guns’ Entrenched, his righteous brigade, once no-man-fathomed. Now it is frightful, sheer, lacking no conviction, exacting reverence: You are either with us or against but never in between. Ignorance is our enemy, resistance our kerosene. Inextricably, her cause consumes, splinters … Continue reading Conversations in a Radicalised System

The Painter

  A brief canvas of obsession and compulsion Etched blackened veins in strokes Of leaden paint. The painter in his madness portrayed chaos. What he thought were masterpieces were merely the manipulations of the claws that trickled up his spine, sending signals to his ailing wrists. One day he stood back, stooped in calmed breath, the lights turned mellow in his studio observing yet another … Continue reading The Painter

The Caged Quill

Words: Rosie Howe Embracing solitude for warmth Cold winters bite my lonely soul Which lies susceptible and vulnerable Without a protector or comfort. My nib scratches the surface of silence, Tearing away all society. Am I alone? Guarded by none but a pen for a kukri and ink for venom?   Open are the wounds of my words, The wounds of my heart? Stagnant. My … Continue reading The Caged Quill

Motley Poetry: Way Back

By Glenn J. M. Bastide The road extended for leagues through thick woods, So quiet, I put a car for every three miles crossed, And on a night like this the very air was scented, Night I say though it couldn’t be dark, not here, We crossed unfinished houses and old ones ruined, Toads crossed our paths below, mosquitoes watching above They dived for me … Continue reading Motley Poetry: Way Back

Motley Poetry: Groundhog Days 

By Simon Pindel It’s a tough old resolution – labour. It pierces through the skin Makes an incision in your spine And rectifies the soul   Now seen with leathery hands And foot soles like bark They show how much I’ve aged In the last two months No longer edging the line Between responsibility and apathy But shunning it       Let the soap … Continue reading Motley Poetry: Groundhog Days