Time’s Up, by Maj Ikle

Sally takes a knife
down her local alley
she’s looking for a bad man
making up a tally
he’s easy to find
with her carrot powered eyes
he’ll say he’s not to blame
but Sally knows
he lies

so she slices in
between thin ribs
she made the knife herself
for all of them
like him.


When Walking over Muddy Fields by Maj Ikle

Start slow,
Keep your eyes on the baby steps low
Do not look too far ahead
instead, plod on
Know you will get there
Find stones and tree roots to press
your careful feet into
Follow the dogs for high ground, not pigs
they look for hollows to wallow in
Scan the sides for elevations
however small
And don’t take the bramble’s jokes
personally at all
When climbing up a muddy bank
follow the footprints you know
Steady as you
ninja go.

Song of the Gulf of Boni (Bone) by Maj Ikle

Why do you not know what separates us
When you presume to name me
After your body parts?
To then exist unseen
As if transparency
Means no personality
When…For all your industry
Dirting on my shores
You’re stuck in the shallows
Where mine shape yours
Licking and rinsing you clean
Salty balm for your festering sores
Feeling what you should see
Bone solid is not the only way to be
Still…You bathe in my edges
Because you daren’t
Go all the way down to deepness
Where spiral gyres move and shift
Too much pressure for you
Skin child, rude chimpanzee
Clinging to crusts
When you could be
Symbiont grooming me
Instead …You brand with numbers
“Eighty miles long, thirty wide”
Avoiding the fact I’m the majority
I’m not even a me
We are a body
Planetary blood coursing
Adventure energy resourcing
We are water
Ceaseless sea
Poem from recently launched Beautiful Dragons anthology Not a Drop-oceans of poetry

Slut Shaming by Maj Ikle

Like rose petals on a mountain-top
She is delicately exposed
Wafting earthly erotic embers
Scenting our air with desire
Soft lips tremble yearning
Bare of the spittle
That flies frothy from
Your stiff metal gob
As if shame is your job
To cover her up lest she
Sets the whole world on fire
But how many names
Does one language require
To slander women
For glittering with sexual salt
Tell us mr policeman plod
Who died to make you my
Daddy god?

Aylan by Maj Ikle

I wrap his body
In the finest tabloid paper and
Tie quality strings
With tight little knots

What else can I do with
My celebrated son
But send him to your better world
Filled with food, shelter and toys

I whisper a last goodbye
As I place him on postal scale
Weighing him heavy against
The price of hope

But we both know
He’ll grow cold this Christmas
Under plastic needle trees
With their fake magic dreams



WHO will be our judge in hell by Maj Ikle

WHO will be our judge in hell
When the wealth of Syrian women are
Still brutally forced into the sea
By insignificant men who pray for balls as big as bulls
And sell Europa’s cunt fruit for freedoms
They still don’t know how to enjoy
Where honeyed growth that comes from rape
Can never still my rage
How can it be enough to carry a thread
Through this labyrinthine
Descending slippery

Hollow by Maj Ikle

Victory has a spineless sister
Whose skin she filleted
When their childish games turned sinister

Not content with slapping face or breaking bones
They blew their mother up
In a race to live without a home

Now Victory stalks the streets
Searching for clean sheets and pillows to weep on
But everyone is gone.