Syria Ten Years On

Back in 2011 I saw the unfolding horror in Syria as Assads regime started to crush unarmed civilians, I wrote two poems on the site Poetry24.co.uk and I place them here hopefully make us all think of what is going on globally especially during this pandemic

Thank you for reading

Pitesti Experiment (film)

Victoria Baltag is a filmmaker from Romania, who I met on LinkedIn and she has a very unique and powerful story to tell, that is very unsettling about Romania between 1949 and 1951 and the re education camps, she is now raising money for the postproduction with which I hope you will help her succeed .

“ The state entities in Romania refused to fund this project”.

Victoria Baltag, Master of Arts, University of Birmingham, PhD Film Studies, Queen University of Belfast and Postgraduate Teaching Assistant at UCL made a remarkable movie about one of the darkest pages from Romanian History.
Pitesti Experiment.
Generations of Romanians did not learn about this subject at schools, colleges, Universities. Censorship and hiding the dark moments from history left many Romanians clueless about the history of their country.
Pitesti Experiment project needs support. Art in pandemic needs support. Our support.
Media exposure, funds, event organization, all are ways to support.
Every time this movie is promoted, every donation, every effort is a different manner to say“ I am sorry for how much you suffered”.
This project is about the victims of Pitesti Experiment. Victims who for many are unknown, forgotten.
Their story has to be told! Let’s help it!

more info here https://www.film-fest-report.com/home/victoria-baltag-interviewhttp://more info here https://www.film-fest-report.com/home/victoria-baltag-int

https://gofund.me/d00e45b3

https://www.thegenocideofthesouls.org/public/english/the-pitesti-experiment/

Have a look, have a read then give to what will be a harrowing yet amazing film

Glory Garden

idleness of circumstance

Eve had gone

sinew as forest twine

flesh spit drowned flattened

meek without doctrine

clinging to

the something of the sun

solar passage

lunar dip

death had a taste

but not a flavour for now

he would seek

Eve

no soiled mattress

or overgrown brothel

he thought

he was his own keeper

Eve his zoo

garden foliage gleam

waiting

a worm feeling frost

not the sun

she would come

patient to those demands

but he is the compliant

not she

she is the earth

the very nature of the garden

each blossom

each fragrance

a hint of paradise

Glory Garden by Chris Lawrence

“The Corner House” and other poems by Victoria Kennefick

Poethead

(I don’t know how to spell) Meningioma

 
I float down icy corridors.
My face slips, blurs on skirting boards.
Plastic tiles suck my shoes.
 
In the GA Ward,
the flickering mouth of television
hisses at blankness.
 
An igloo of brains, snow blocks on pillows;
my eyes cast out to look for you.
The German lady asks me for water.
 
She’s never seen you here, she says.
She’s got a tumour, a hail stone in her head,
frozen on an x-ray in the hall.
 
In the waiting room, sweat sneaks out my armpits,
from behind bare knees, freezes like a smile.
Sun flaunts its limbs along the wall –
 
my body perves to lie with it, the mad yellow.
You do not come; I go out double-doors –
anti-bacterial soap melts in my hands.
 
Sun gropes my body back to skin
in the hospital…

View original post 1,088 more words

Three Poems by Scott Wannberg

Rusty Truck

Hard Luck

Hard Luck’s getting married to his high school sweetie.
All participants in the ongoing crime attend,
history books babble and fall from their shelves.
Guess we’re on our own.
Improvise some future
we can readily hum.

The coast road is erratic
can’t keep its answers straight.
The goodbye room is full of nervous waiters
wondering what today’s special looks like.
All those animals Noah took aboard the ark
were Pisces.

Hard Luck won’t get out of his rocking chair.
Maybe it’s a bit late.
The bones creak.
The groom and the bride
mumble something unintelligible about faith.
If only somebody around here would enunciate.

Listening to Tom Russell, Songs of the West

____________

Over the Edge, and Then Some…

The luxury liner promises to stop sinking
as soon as you truly get clear.
The Children Of The Great Depression
offer a sleek new line of
alluring lunch pails.

View original post 585 more words

Gerald Locklin, CSULB teacher, writer, poet, dies at 79

Gerald Locklin, a legendary local teacher, writer and poet who helped shape the literary landscape of Southern California for decades and was friends…

Gerald Locklin, CSULB teacher, writer, poet, dies at 79

A poet I admire and always enjoy reading

Merry Christmas

Pages have been silent , poetry settled hibernating in its own nest of growing existence , other words have escaped beyond borders and territories dramatic arcs to be filmed on flickering silver screen those words I am embracing , those words are my life blood.

I sit back this Christmas morning and think of you all

On set

Quarantine and Chill ,a powerful script written by Jane Dillon that has translated into a dramatic surge of a short film , shooting is complete Shaun Daly worked the camera with style despite lighting issues that we overcame , Jane is directing herself , Queen Banerbie plays her antagonist , as production assistant I became immersed this is the second time on set for me , the first was Matopulas as a first time actor working behind the scenes has enriched my knowledge especially towards screenwriting my awareness of pages becoming literal has altered some of my screenwriting perceptions, it was a great week made new friends Sian Woods who worked sound and camera and Amanda Borg the make up artist who is amazing . Once done through editing by Christopher Buckenham we will be revealing to the world and every festival we can but until then I will keep you posted

http://www.amandaborgmakeupartist.com

http://www.sianwoods.wixsite.com

My wife Karen Lawrence , Spikey Mouse Photography did the behind the scenes stills for advertising and marketing etc, she is an amazing and talented person and should look at her work on:-

http://www.karen-lawrence.pixels.com

An Owlet Calls

hospital sounds occurred as

limp wires stretched to where she lay

quiet

body traumatised by the crash

she would scar , she would heal

away without him

her abuser,possessor , nightmare husband

a moth glimmered in her eye

how did it get in

then seemed to grow

expanding into something larger

she managed a smile

as it settled upon her

she sighed

it’s body pressing on top

a noctuidae

face bearded wise

antenna folded, she wanted to touch

trying to speak intubated

a gargling slur of nothing

I will protect you

it seemed to say

a fair exchange would be

probiscus probing pressing

her vein rich neck

flowing with oxygenated life

it pierced her flesh gently

a soft penetration

unlike others experienced

she would be safe

the owlet moth said so

quiet

she slept

Owlet moth copyright Daniel Kaliko

#PWpoetryprompt