Holiday

Even Death needs to take a break sometime.

Needs to sit on the beach in the sun

with his scythe hidden,

so as not to frighten the swimmers.

Well,

everything about Death has to be hidden.

There can be no exposure

beyond a few inches of face and hands,

hardly more than a woman in a burka.

Yes,

everything has to be hidden,

so as not to frighten the swimmers

ready

for when the holiday is over.

http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_December2018.pdf

Where Equivalence Goes To Die

We soon found out that Native Americans

were the bad guys.

We watched the Hollywood portrayals

of the cowardly braves

deserving of death

and the brave, honest settlers

who rightly prevailed.

If propaganda is successful

it won’t even be recognised.

And successful it was for a long time.

That is not to say

that all ‘indians’ were good people,

that they never committed atrocities

or preached hatred and abuse.

But the power was so disproportionate

that they could be no equivalence.

The scales were already tipping over.

To pretend balance was possible

would be a distortion.

Then there were the Nazi’s.

No one now thinks that

their arguments

of superiority,

of paranoia and racism

should find an open ear.

But ears were open then.

Wide open.

And eyes were closed to

enslavement,

starvation

and death.

That is not to say

that all Jews, Slavs and gypsies were good people,

that they never committed atrocities

or preached hatred and abuse.

But the power was so disproportionate

that they could be no equivalence.

The scales were already tipping over.

To pretend balance was possible

would be a distortion.

And in South Africa, a new ideology,

separate development

for the benefit of each culture.

So it was justified

in the propaganda,

the dominant discourse.

And it found the open ears

of the powerful.

So segregated townships were created

and Bantustan homelands.

far away.

Separation, control,

humiliation, harassment,

impoverishment, exploitation.

That is not to say

that all the black people were good,

that they never committed atrocities

or preached hatred and abuse.

But the power was so disproportionate

that they could be no equivalence.

The scales were already tipping over.

To pretend balance was possible

would be a distortion.

And now in Israel

the same game is being played,

separation, control,

humiliation, harassment,

impoverishment,

destruction, death

with the same justifications,

the same ears open

to the powerful,

closed to the oppressed

That is not to say

that all Palestinians are good people,

that they never commit atrocities

or preach hatred and abuse.

But the power is so disproportionate

that they can be no equivalence.

The scales are already tipping over.

To pretend balance is possible

would be a distortion.

So now we must wait

for some ears to be closed

and others to be opened

as history moves on

relentlessly.

https://www.erothanatos.com/v3i1n17?fbclid=IwAR3rYCzX76DsGb-Pw3HXdiT7PgiScRhS-ZkZ3vzZmgfHQLn1smNXI_YRgaw

EROTHANATOS.COM

Erothanatos | A Peer-Reviewed Journal | v3i1n17

Erothanatos is a literary journal, published quarterly in January, April, July and October.

Entertainment

As usual,
it was one tank that drew the crowd
down in the museum’s aquarium.
It was not the tank with pike
gawping threateningly,
their teeth barred
in anticipation
and hope
of attracting an audience.
No,
though there was a monstrous pike in it,
swimming with i’s mouth wide open.
But it’s mouth was open wide
in wonder,
in wonder at its strange environment.
Well,
it’s not often that a pike gets to swim
in a drawing room
furnished from times past.
It’s eyes bulged
with the strangeness of it all.
But
it was a crowd puller,
though still not enough
to satisfy such an audience,
the pike reflected,
as it considered the strangeness
of it’s very un-fishlike companion,
the young girl costume dressed
to match the drawing room,
standing there dreamlike
or maybe drugged,
steadying herself
with the chair.
Perhaps earlier she was seated,
when the water was lower.
but now she has to stand.
The water is already
up to her waist
and rising slowly.
The audience gets larger,
their eyes bulging fishlike
as they gawp at the spectacle.

They call it entertainment.
So it goes.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1730805620…

CultureCult Magazine - Issue #9

To Those Who Dream

The sun no longer shines for them,

for the streams of dreamers

dreaming of the road to somewhere else.

From somewhere that has become nowhere.

Dreaming of escape.

Dreaming of a future, any future.

Dreaming of better things to come.

Dreaming of the life they once had.

Dreaming of normality, whatever that means.

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.

Dreaming of returning

when the sun comes up again,

if ever it does.

http://www.praxismagonline.com/dream-lynn-white/?fbclid=IwAR1bTsRCrMDSKbsccM0uPeEXuh8XcQusSiGcM3nUgPfO63nQoWaogIPqdW8

The Chase

Table chatter.
Laughter, quirky smiles.
And then
our glances held,
suddenly.
Moments passed.
She spread her hands,
arms outstretched.
A helpless gesture
of excuse me,
what can I do?
So
up to me.
Too complicated.
But.
I want to know
more.
Look this way
again.
I want to know
you.
So, look.
Look this way.
But no,
no luck.
Talking now,
head turned away.
Then,
smiles all round.
Mouth upturned,
eyes dead,
leave taking smiles.
Walking away.
Turn!
Turn!
No turn.
No backward glance.
Not for me,
it seems..
But I know..
so turn,
turn.
No turn.
So clumsy.
Chair upturned.
Excuse me.
Apologies.
Due haste.
Well,
never a gain
without a chase,
I know.

UGLYWRITERS.COM

The Chase - The Ugly Writers

The Chase is written by Lynn White and shared with The Ugly Writers for the theme All-Original for the month of January.

Perfectly Imperfect

It started when we stood hopefully,
with our thumbs outstretched
by an English roadside.
We were heading towards Italy and Yugoslavia
without maps or money,
or sense of direction.

And we made it to Italy.
and swam off the rocks,
with a man we’d met in a cafe,
because he said we could.
And we swam and swam until two policemen came,
(one very stern and one very twinkly),
and said we couldn’t.
Nor could we leave the rocks without clothes on,
or with clothes clinging to our still wet bodies,
or lie on the rocks until we were dry,
in case we disconcerted the traffic or populace.
This being the main street in Trieste.

And we made it to Pec and lived
in a house ‘typique du Turque’
with a water pump in the garden
and a toilet, also ‘Typique du Turque’,
which made us very ill indeed.
But the parties were good and
the conversations interesting,
Even though no one spoke English.
And we learned to speak some Albanian,
which was always handy.
And we survived to sit thirstily by a hot,
dusty roadside and fantasize
about the ice cold mountain water
streaming through the streets of Pec,
and even about the water pump in the garden.

And we made it back home.
We had got lost a lot,
but hadn’t got raped or murdered.
So far as we can remember.
What perfection.

TulipTree Publishing, LLC

15 hrs · 

This week's story of the week is by Lynn White. Dive in at http://www.tuliptreepub.com/story-of-the-week.html!

Such Nonsense

We had a new teacher,
a student still in college.
He read us a long poem.
I listened carefully trying
to make sense of it.
It was funny.
Was it meant to be funny?
or was the laughter of derision,
to what sounded like nonsense.
Laughter seemed allowed
and that was unusual.
School was not a place for fun.
Well, maybe it was nonsense
but I loved the imagery
and the colours of the words.
I asked if 'pea green' was
the colour of mushy peas
from the chip shop,
or was it those in pods
fresh from the garden.
Nothing was clear,
but it was fun.

https://www.erothanatos.com/vol2issue4