Her skin was Pokemon yellow but
nobody looked for the monster in her –
the florists daughter retching from her ointment
cared not if the fire was Russian or Brexit European
flames hurt wherever they are forged and baptised from.
The furious doctor has not slept for eleven Iraqi nights
he is shaking so violently yet gently injects Shoab and
tonight in penicillin dreams Shoab may walk again, walk
to his Mother and see a red scarf leave her mouth
and strike her down where she tucked him in.
It is time to look for Pokemon in wartime.
For three seconds the woman soldier opens fire.
She is a woman soldier and last night was a mere child.
For three minutes her Father was a florist of wounds and cyclamen
laid it on her grave, her womanly bones. All they found was a monster.
I am not a silent poet 
Reblogged this on reubenwoolley.
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Beautifully crafted with originality and all encompassing, powerfully emotive uses in your words finely etched into this atrocity.
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Thanks Anita that means a lot to me. We are more than our fate. What makes a monster is often a monster. I wanted to portray a child who comes of age in an age where races become one collective identity. Women, refugees. children of the otherworldly hell created by the god-fearing rich. We live in a paradox and I am ashamed of this age I live in. Art is important, it is the pin sticking the killers of butterflies to a wall and saying “Look at them”
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Shame is never far away these days. I have to stop and breathe. All of the above that you mention and more, add to the mix our wildlife (and other)crisis, people make me sck in all honesty we ought really to be ashamed; we will be but outside of us, those that should are not capable physiologically. I feel art has its useful place to, but to those unfeeling among us, again wont feel the pins or care. But we keep trying which is important and sets us apart. We are one species, and I still ask really naively, why can’t we just be who, and what we want to be and above all tolerant This is a telling time for this next generation and it does not bode well in a lot of arenas.
But I really deeply appreciated your fine words and know your sentiments are not wasted. Keep writing!
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