Occupy Poetry


Catherine Sloane


there are no trenches in this modern war
except the ones dug for the dead.

I dream I’m running from a cruise missile.

the children play hide and seek, hide and BOOM
the bomb digs the trench for them.

lies, wrapped in swaddling clothes
how can I rephrase that? lies mmmmmmm BOOM.

I dream I’m Charlie Chaplin

the dead are draped gently in colour
rarely in black and white

peace, a word I saw once on a piece-

of scratch paper. I mean world peace
a nice idea, a truly nice ideaniceideaniceidBOOM

I dream george is having cold sweats
in the closet. He doesn’t look so good.

and the children,
at least they don’t know what hit … BOOm!

but we do, yes by god, indeedy,

I dream I’m having cold sweats in the closet.

I’ve seen enough, turn the damn thing off.

I dream that cruise is cruising, its breath
on my neck.

where do all those dead
people go? I mean the place must be
one huge burial ground so to speak so to BOOM.

I dream of Charlie Chaplin. he turns
the corner, toes out like a duck quickquick,
off with his head.

a bit strong I think,
go easy on the BOOM!

I dream on….

I don’tfeelthatfeelgoodfactor says george.

I sleep dreamlessly.
guerra guerre harb war by any other name is BOOM!

Catherine Sloane


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