Penguins

It’s Penguin Awareness Day.

Brian Bilston

They were sighted off the south-east coast,
drifting in towards the port;
their boat, a snapped-off block of ice,
melting slowly in the warmth.
 
By the docks, a crowd had formed itself;
mob-angry, it looked on.
Placards were thrust. A chant began:
GO BACK TO WHERE YOU’RE FROM.
 
‘They’re just economic migrants,’
declared a spokesman for the right.
‘They’ve come to rob us of our jobs.
It’s as clear as black and white.’
 
‘Tragic,’ said the Home Secretary,
mock-sadness suppressed his smirk.
‘We’d let them stay but here’s the rub –
they have no paperwork.’
 
‘They’ll undermine Our Way of Life!’
The warnings raged on Twitter.
‘They stink of fish.’ ‘They’ll rape your wife.’
‘There’s bombs beneath those flippers.’
 
‘PENGUIN CLAIMS “MY HOME IS MELTING!”’
The Sun printed in disgust.
‘But whose fault is THAT – except THEIR OWN?
What’s that to do with US?’

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The Kindness of Strangers

Brian Bilston

There is a beauty
that walks in the darkness,
makes its way
among the bombs
and broken lives,

offers blankets
and shoulders to cry on,
puts on kettles
and bandages,
mends what it can,

and asks
for not one thing back,
as it wraps
in its arms
the troubled night,

and waits
for morning
and its pale sunlight.

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Refugees

I think we need to read this amazing poem by Brian Bilston again. And again. And again.

Now read it again from bottom to top.

Coming October 6

 

Brian Bilston’s first book of poetry will be released on October 6 at various places including Amazon. It is listed there now but pricing information is unavailable.

Refugees

Now read it from bottom to top

Brian Bilston

The Poetry of Public Transportation and Punctuation

I found the most amazing poet on Twitter this morning and have spent some time on his website. Here are two of his amusing poems.

you took the last bus home

you took
the last bus home

i still don’t know
how you got it through the door

but you’re always doing amazing stuff

like the time
when you caught that train

Exclamation Mark!

Mark was his name!
He would shout and proclaim!

Every sentence he wrote
would end just the same!

He would assert! He would blurt!
He would ejaculate and spurt!
Each line was a screamer!
A gasper! A slammer! A shrieker!
A literary loudspeaker!!!

Frankly, it all began to needle and nark!
Why did no one think to question Mark?

His name is Brian Bilston, go check out his poetry laboetry.

My Perfect Nose–for Shelley

Apologies to Emily.

 

A single fanpoodle commented

upon my one star review.

He was offended by my snarky prose;

he offended me too

with the words he chose.

He was a fan or family of

the hack whose book I chose

a sad creature who could not spell

and grew hair between his toes.

Why is it I never get

one perfect Johnny Depp,

do you suppose?

No, it’s always some sad troo

who makes me snort milk

out of my perfect nose.

 

It’s Not A Love Song, Carroll Bryant

Seldom does a day go by

that you don’t ramble, rant, and lie.

I really hate to be so rude

but, sorry, you’re just boring, dude.

We all talk behind your  back

about the skills you sorely lack,

and I think the worst for me

is your lack of brevity.