Author: poetryfest

There’s a rosette under this golden flesh,
the core of this palm-sized planet,
rippling edges, ruffled coral.
Skin-thin surface holding weight,
juices locked in tight, firm cells

My colleague, she prefers her peaches crunchy–
I like mine swimming, sweetness flowing.
How lovely then,
that they are loved at all stages of being,

not resented for youth or age,

admired at each moment,

for qualities available, not longed for

How can I keep resentment,
when I see new worlds in your eyes?

I love the West Wind most of all
It is the scent of Adventure
You had me so in thrall
Enslaved, under indenture
That is my official line
More fool you if you believe me
I have full control of my time
I do as I please, as needs be
Pleasure is all I truly care for
More so now than ever
You touched me to my core
I will forget you: never
You travelled with a false flag flying
The less merciful would call it lying

I thought you fitted me
Like a made-to-measure glove
When all the time
I was trying to shove
My right foot
Into a left hand shoe.

I thought we tessellated
Like the tiles on my ancestral palaces
When all the time
None of the foundation stones
Were true.

I thought we harmonised
Like those Black voices
I Love so
When all the time
You were singing
Another tune.

© Nuzhat Jabinh FRSA 2024

Where other countries went from laughing at us, to serious concern
Wondering how many bridges we’ve got left to burn
For the sake of ONE religion and ONE book
but hey, weren’t prayers good enough for Sandy hook?

I live in America
The land of the free
Unless you’re different
Unless you’re someone like me

There’s plenty like me
Several go undetected
Because America doesn’t like different
It’s too “unexpected”

I live in America
if you’re black or POC
you have to work 10 times harder
Just to be seen
Assuming you aren’t killed
Just because you were seen

Being seen doesn’t mean you’re understood
I wish it did,
I wish to hell it would

I live in America
Where gay people are killed
By straight white men
Who get off on the thrill

They use the “panic defense” and are acquitted
Not a surprise, it’s almost predicted

“It’s a sin, god said so”
Clinging to a book written thirty five hundred years ago

I live in America
Where children are starving
And then they start carving
Marks on their arms

They are abused and neglected
Lost and unprotected
But in the end blamed for their outcome.

Veterans are dying
And we put up a flag
To show we are trying!
Yeah that’s not so bad!
We can post about them on Veterans Day
And pretend like their deaths were a Heavenly way

When in reality
The country they fought for has let them down
Made them jump through hoops
And they didn’t know how
So in the end they suffer, and it’s all so sad
But it’s god will, you can’t get mad!
It’s not like agent orange was on purpose!
Oh, but thank you for your service.

It could be better
It could be worse
I’m just telling you how it is now
Before I too, end up in a hearse.

If I died tomorrow I couldn’t afford it
But hey I’m poor, so naturally I’m unfit
Slap up a gofundme, send some prayers
Tell my husband & my kids how much you care

I live in America.

Will I wake up one day and regret sending my kids to school ?
Will I be the next mother sobbing on the news?

I live in America
Where protests make you targets
Like the ones protesting to begin with
Haven’t had enough hardships

Where if you don’t have enough money,
Every regret
lives in debt

You can break your back and do as you should
Play yourself thinking it matters, I wish it would.

I live in America
The land of the free
I’m just wondering
What the HELL happened to diversity?

I live in America
Where you’re punished, not rehabilitated
Where human rights are outdated
And human lives are debilitated
Where they tell me if my child is raped
It’s a child she has to bare, it was no mistake

I live in America
Where health care is inaccessible to those who need it most
Meanwhile our legislators
Are cheersing & making toasts

I live in America
The land of the free
The place I was born
Where it’s not safe be me

I am helping the universe give birth to itself.
I was a midwife before wives existed & God
is in the kitchen cooking up a storm of alphabet soup.
I see a tiny black hole & I go go go
There’s no time for a corny joke
about the Big Bang beating all the religious brains.
There are no brains, only atoms that spiral out
from a singular microscopic dot
that I am trying to soak up & splotch all
of the gas the universe is letting out (& believe me, there’s tons of it)
I will complain later;
there is no time. I am nursing a life
back in time & praying it stays there.
Now it is my right to push all of the galaxies out at once.
I stroke the sides of the dot as a childhood doll.
I feel for the universe
I know how much is riding on this to work.
Out pops a galaxy, crying
in fat rainbow tears that

fall
to the endless barrel of darkness hitting
an imaginary oor like a drum.
I stu the galaxy with a binky
made of cosmic dust & then kick it away.
It twirls as a ribbon then oats higher & higher
before dropping so fast I am in human pain.
I know I will never see it again
I didn’t give that one a name, that is my shame.
I look back to the dot which is the universe & think
it has seen better days.
I reach out a palm to tell her
she is doing a great job.
But she icks me away & says I am not t to do this.
A pit forms in my stomach.
The universe reeks of armpit, oatmeal raisin cookies & truth
She belches in my crow’s feet, wrinkled face.
She commands
you are incapable of raising your own life. How could you stick around & raise a universe?
I wanted to light a re in my throat & be the rst wildre.
I wanted to gather all of the water in the world & drink until I burst
but all I did was stick out my tongue
(a pathetic school girls only power)
The universe did the same but it wasn’t
a tongue she lurched out but every- galaxy, star, planet, energy, matter, nebulae, physical reality,
alternate dimension, & it was perfect & endless & cold & all you could ever really ask for, a chance to
see
what would make it out alive

I woke up shivering,
delivering my last bit of hallucinatory deance with a drooling tongue…

I was back to me.

Thirty-Nine years old without a child
to call back home. I knew the universe was trying
to protect me in that dream. I would have done the same,
as any mother would.

But now was not the time for protection.
It was nally time to take a chance.

Energetic canvas of warring mechanical tales,
sentinel’s lone eye amidst angular veils.
Orange, black, white, yellow shades blend
dynamic shadows at light’s vibrant end.

Geometric entanglement, silently bold,
warm intensity conveys complexities untold.
A futuristic duel where synthetic minds clash,
positronic duality, mystic’s dancing as sparks flash.

Robotic warrior’s valiant symmetrical fight,
represents technologic prowess and might.
Sharp contrasts belie movement’s grace
de androidibus forms in graphene’s embrace.

Circuitry’s contest, electron drift’s stream,
mechanized gladiators, with hydraulic’s scream,
shaping this binary ballet, around steel entwined,
artificial intellects uniquely designed.

Asimov’s tri-principled seed has been sown,
inside silicon sentience, ethics now grown.
Humanity’s mirror, through circuits aligned,
mechanoid’s pondering, Three Laws defined.

No word is repeated in this poem.

I’ve written you a letter, I’m not sure why, because I don’t know where to send it, but there was something I wanted you to know. You see, I did plan for you, sort of, you were on my to do list, a rough draft pinned to the fridge under the ‘I love Ibiza’ magnet. I thought I had plenty of time, but something always came up…a doubt, a better offer, promotion, I thought time was on tap too busy to restrict myself to pink or blue when there were so many Gucci bags in a rainbow of colours. Dungarees and baggy tops were not on my radar, instead I sparkled in sequins and velvet.

Strutting my stuff on the dance floor, sipping mojito, cosmopolitan, sex on the beach….I did feel a pang of something but thought it was indigestion from the kebab I ate, while waiting at the taxi rank at 3am in the morning.
My friends drifted in the opposite direction and settled down with 2 point 4 children. I tried to look interested, faking my smile as they discussed breast or bottle, while in my head pondering red or white. I would nod as they gushed over Disneyland fairy tales, while I packed my bags for: Greece, Spain, or Italy. My godchild giggled in my arms, and I did feel a stirring but thought it was probably her nappy and handed her back. I brought a fur baby and flashed pictures of him amongst a gallery of tiny tots.

My 30’s moved on and friends became strangers, too busy on school runs, too tired for nights out. I thought I had plenty of time when buying meals for one, distracting myself by planning more trips, brought more bags and shoes. Went on a few more ‘speed’ dates, just friends’ dates, internet dates… And then as if overnight, 40 was banging at the door and it was ‘waiting for life to begin dates,’ ‘been there done that dates,’ ‘crisis of confidence’ dates.
Mirror Mirror on the wall…skin duller, hair greyer, body sagging…but a lucky swipe right and a whirlwind romance, wined and dined, flowers and chocolates. ‘Will you marry me’ he said…PS… I don’t want children.

If I’m honest I did feel relief, at first, but then I felt a niggle, a yearning, a panic, so I wrote a pros and cons list, and then I said No. I wanted you to have a chance to be. But it was too late. The barman called ‘Time’ as I slipped my flat champagne. My body was tired of whispering, nudging, suggesting and finally spoke loud and clear… I don’t know the exact moment, it didn’t arrive with cake and balloons, or make an announcement over loudspeaker, it didn’t ring a warning bell. It just crept into my body and mind, changed the settings, and crept away.
It was too late.

And then I knew, I stirred regret and gin with a handful of ice cubes. It was too late for teddy bears and bootees, ice cream and jelly. My stomach bulged, but not with you, with an alien taking up residence, stealing nourishment, words, perspective, and reason. Both my body and mind were strangers, keeping me company with my dog… who was in season. I should have listened harder…for the ticking…I didn’t…maybe I did?

I was too late for first steps, first words, no photos of first days, first love, graduation, and grandchildren.

Mummy isn’t here.

I have to admit, I thought I wouldn’t care, I thought when the time came it would pass without recognition, but it didn’t…and I did…care.

And now I’m 50, I’ve lost my keys, again. I’ve lost my words, my mind, my oestrogen. I’m drifting, irrational, impatient, emotional, hot, and tired, so tired. I’m lost in a field of oats, too late to sow them with pink ribbon in your hair.

But I have a puppy.

I’m so sorry.

You should have had the chance to be.

In distant lands of cheap labor’s sway,
A hidden tale of toil unfolds each day,
Workers labor long, for meager pay,
In sweatshops where the sun’s fierce rays hold sway.

With skilled hands, they sew and weave with speed,
Creating garments that will soon be obsolete, indeed,
Fashion’s whims dictate, with each passing year,
Leaving workers with pain, and naught but tears to fear.

The threads they use, harsh, rough, and strong,
Leave their skin scarred, with every stitch, all day long,
Yet still they toil, for their children’s sake,
Their labor, a sacrifice, their future at stake.

We shop, with reckless disregard, it’s true,
For cheaper prices, and clothes that quickly fade anew,
We buy, without a thought, or care, or might,
For those who suffer, to make our clothes shine bright.

Let us awaken, with hearts that now see,
The choices we make, and the consequences we’ll be,
For every garment purchased, holds a story untold,
Of a worker’s life, and the price they’ve been sold.

it’s christmas day 2013 and your chest hurts
but you finish making family breakfast- just like every year.
a 95% blockage and immediate heart surgery

my sisters visit you before I do.

it’s christmas day 2023
and you finish making family breakfast- just like you have the past ten years.

it’s summer 2008 and we are walking in the creek
when the red-handled bucket begins floating away.
You run to save my favorite bucket.

it’s january 2024 and we are walking to my car.
The stone wall is getting too high for you to step over
but I hold your waist so you don’t fall.

it’s february 2024 and you are walking out of the bedroom.
When your leg gives out I offer you my hand
but I don’t want to let go.

it’s march 2024 and your muscles are twitching- dissipating.
ALS medication adding two to three months to a terminal prognosis
but we know prolonging will never be long enough.

it’s july 2024 and your first grandson is named after you.
I watch you hold him with a pillow supporting your arm
wondering how many times you will hold him
knowing neither will remember what it feels like.

O dear drowning brother,
I warn you of the coming disasters
That rain ash on your village
Heat kettles in your lungs, and
Mark your psycho-soul onto a
Nautical chart, thrashing, thrashing
In the emptiest place.

O dear damned brother,
The waves break on the sun struck shores
And pull china dolls and army men into their currents,
And Christ and Vishnu and every animal god
All wash out of memory
Like wine stains in salt water.
You are sensitive to this, I know, you see
Everything glowing in the firelight beneath the cities, feel
Everywhere enough space around you to raise your
Arms and fall any which way.

O dear death brother,
It’s all about the altars, isn’t it?
It’s all about the choirs reaching harmony
And the children sleeping like angels —
Is that a migraine buzzing in my temple
Or the low tenor of God?

O dearest brother,
Remember the crucifix pitched above your baptism?
Polymer Saviour, bloody and true, life sized —
And he did not meet any eyes,
He looked to the stained glass window,
To the world, to the walls of the tacky holy place
And pictured in that moment he is as faithless
As I, on the threshold of those unending nights,
Infinite winters and dead seas.

O dear deserted brother,
The mountains cast their shadow
On your place of prayer,
But they have no intent to speak of.
It’s just the order of things.
And I love you even when
I have lost myself in cruelty,
And I love you even as we drown
Certain that love will die with us.

O dear disaster brother
It is my pleasure to witness your madness,
It is my pleasure to join you
In the muddy thrashing dances and the firecrackers
At midnight, the boat rides where in tandem,
We row out of time and space and
Drift into the void between the stars
Where creation slumbers.