Poetry

Repose

Anxious all the chilly day for night
         You wafted into the bar determined to steal.
A self-deluding determination: you’re heavy,
         You swap weight and shift from toe to toe,
Too clownish to be capable of repose
         Or of deciding what is worth pursuing.

Your mum regarded you beautiful, I assume,
         She pampered you all day and lulled you to sleep.
Perhaps that’s all the trouble. And it develops:
         An unrewarded warrior now, you keep
Getting less beautiful towards the day’s end.
         The man’s potential empties to lie, deep
Most against those who’ve done everything to please.
         They did not consider you, and only I
Have noticed you much—though not as undercover pal
         But imagining positions changed, with you the agent.

The bulbs flare up. What shining audience
         Row upon row notices finally
Your tattered loss, your absurd pretension?
         You stay still, but the bar is drifting fast.
Time to trudge home darling, though now you feel very
         Frigid.
         These speakers have little sound. If you’re defeated
It doesn’t matter tomorrow. Sleep soundly. God knows
         Devilish folks need more sleep than most
And need to know all they can about repose.

Ismail Bala Garba

Yesterday

Education became the new tourism.
War became a means to peace and democracy.
Art became entertainment.
Culture was measured by celebrity.
Government became business management.
Utopia became a science fiction movie.
Progress without end or meaning became King.
Religion became self-fulfilment.
Science became a religion.
Clerics became terrorists.
Boredom became a threat to national security.
Sportsmen and women became addicts.
Media stopped reporting the news and began making the news.
Security was found only in ownership.
Property became an economic prison.
People hoped that there was still hope.
Love, life and death continued unabated.

Simon Leake

Red

Kissing lips
Stroking tongues
Pounding heart
Rushing blood
Flushed cheeks
Love bite
Love’s bitten
Eve’s apple.

Lyndysue Davies

Hide and Seek

It’s a familiar corner
The patches of thick paint on its walls paled
Thinned
to an apparition
The smells of new paint now aged
evocative
of bundled closely strands of live memories
tied tightly
that time now gives itself to
hide and seek

I peep out of my little hiding
animatedly
glance around
I gleefully scream
Papa catch me......
....My scream returns to a soft whisper
settles
to a strong voice within me.

Priya Virmani

The Camera That Produced Love

Neula’s beautiful figure in glare
of camera and softness of dust-touch,
Blithering I was like a gyrating thumb
and my mind was left-ed,

sick-dumb

Glittered eye,

Photo like memory is unreliable but pliable

And the sheer fucking BLASTEDNESS of this city life,

“The Final Hours”

are the same hours we’re
always living
My love for you, it and Him/Her
is like it was when, the final hours are now, or were then

spirited to impress.

Peter Reid

Light, Sir!

one beat round the block
then return
snap back
change tack

we spin through morning mud
leaving boots cleaner than

mondays
when snails weaved jagged
highways and last sunday’s
sport crinkled with
damp pathways

light up and
leave

leave and
don’t mention the name

“Punctuation tomorrow,
Punctuate perfectly and the
World is your oyster.
Now let us take a brisk stroll.”

leaden lives and broken bribes
burnt photos and serrated knives

quick stop
a week in the pits
with shattered glass and lice

no comfort of the fight

“I often wish paperwork would
Flit away; so tedious. Thank your
Lucky stars, for youth is on your side.”

no chance to wash
away the pain
when we run we’re
all the same

no chance but to
retreat

step back
defeated

at every step we’re given chances

“How delightfully the light toys and
Dapples the water.
I hear you used to bathe
Beneath that gnarled oak?”

silence fills the
concrete class
with heads shot full
of weighted brass

an early tip off
left short and stranded
break electric fence
you’re landed

“Your brother
And I have left room for a
Touch of shooting after lunch.
Mostly rabbits.”

mud spot
spot light
light up
up tight
right type

sights lined up
cross just right
shot
shot

“Shot, sir!”

“Goodnight.”

out like a light

Tom Hannah

Back to Contents



Poetry Repose Anxious all the chilly day for night You wafted into the bar determined to steal. A self-deluding determination: you’re heavy, You swap weight and shift from toe to toe, Too clownish to be capable of repose Or of deciding what is worth pursuing. Your mum regarded you beautiful, I assume, She pampered you all day and lulled you to sleep. Perhaps that’s all the trouble. And it develops: An unrewarded warrior now, you keep Getting less beautiful towards the day’s end. The man’s potential empties to lie, deep Most against those who’ve done everything to please. They did not consider you, and only I Have noticed you much—though not as undercover pal But imagining positions changed, with you the agent. The bulbs flare up. What shining audience Row upon row notices finally Your tattered loss, your absurd pretension? You stay still, but the bar is drifting fast. Time to trudge home darling, though now you feel very Frigid. These speakers have little sound. If you’re defeated It doesn’t matter tomorrow. Sleep soundly. God knows Devilish folks need more sleep than most And need to know all they can about repose. Ismail Bala Garba Yesterday Education became the new tourism. War became a means to peace and democracy. Art became entertainment. Culture was measured by celebrity. Government became business management. Utopia became a science fiction movie. Progress without end or meaning became King. Religion became self-fulfilment. Science became a religion. Clerics became terrorists. Boredom became a threat to national security. Sportsmen and women became addicts. Media stopped reporting the news and began making the news. Security was found only in ownership. Property became an economic prison. People hoped that there was still hope. Love, life and death continued unabated. Simon Leake Red Kissing lips Stroking tongues Pounding heart Rushing blood Flushed cheeks Love bite Love’s bitten Eve’s apple. Lyndysue Davies Hide and Seek It’s a familiar corner The patches of thick paint on its walls paled Thinned to an apparition The smells of new paint now aged evocative of bundled closely strands of live memories tied tightly that time now gives itself to hide and seek I peep out of my little hiding animatedly glance around I gleefully scream Papa catch me...... ....My scream returns to a soft whisper settles to a strong voice within me. Priya Virmani The Camera That Produced Love Neula’s beautiful figure in glare of camera and softness of dust-touch, Blithering I was like a gyrating thumb and my mind was left-ed, sick-dumb Glittered eye, Photo like memory is unreliable but pliable And the sheer fucking BLASTEDNESS of this city life, “The Final Hours” are the same hours we’re always living My love for you, it and Him/Her is like it was when, the final hours are now, or were then spirited to impress. Peter Reid Light, Sir! one beat round the block then return snap back change tack we spin through morning mud leaving boots cleaner than mondays when snails weaved jagged highways and last sunday’s sport crinkled with damp pathways light up and leave leave and don’t mention the name “Punctuation tomorrow, Punctuate perfectly and the World is your oyster. Now let us take a brisk stroll.” leaden lives and broken bribes burnt photos and serrated knives quick stop a week in the pits with shattered glass and lice no comfort of the fight “I often wish paperwork would Flit away; so tedious. Thank your Lucky stars, for youth is on your side.” no chance to wash away the pain when we run we’re all the same no chance but to retreat step back defeated at every step we’re given chances “How delightfully the light toys and Dapples the water. I hear you used to bathe Beneath that gnarled oak?” silence fills the concrete class with heads shot full of weighted brass an early tip off left short and stranded break electric fence you’re landed “Your brother And I have left room for a Touch of shooting after lunch. Mostly rabbits.” mud spot spot light light up up tight right type sights lined up cross just right shot shot “Shot, sir!” “Goodnight.” out like a light Tom Hannah Back to Contents
You can now pick up your copy of Helicon from: