Throne of Bones – Michael Corbett
A man sits on a throne of bones,
He is the poster child for life.
See his face across the silver screen,
How no one stumbles over his name,
His religion–thank god–is the one his country claims.
His country, he insists, for it is his and his alone
Is under attack by an agenda,
The indoctrination, unnatural insemination
Of equality and diversity,
Gender fluidity, androgyny,
marriage equality and
the acceptance of immigrants.
His end is imminent.
How dare these terrorists demand
An equal share of the pie,
Which he pillaged for, killed for,
Munificently colonised.
He spits down from his throne of bones
Onto their acceptance and their kindness and their freedom and their love,
Their sickening love, it brings up bile until it’s brimming against his teeth,
And so he lynches them, stones them, shoots them down in the street,
In their backs.
He sits on his throne on bones,
On its cushion of flesh and hair,
And ruling by decree, he oversees
burqa bans and medical restrictions,
Restricting people to his definition
Of what life should be.
He holds the gavel, held the quill
that penned his country’s constitution,
They fight for change, he holds the batton.
Watch them die for restitution.
The World Today
By Eoin O’Keeffe
People on the news very recently claim,
That the world is nowhere near the same,
I laugh, and grin, a smile with no grim,
The world never changed!
No more than it’s spin!
I do this because I know what’s true,
The world hasn’t changed!
And neither have you!
The colour of skin hasn’t changed a shade,
Who people love is still the same.
The ages and beliefs are still here too,
The world hasn’t changed,
No more than you.
All that has changed is how we see,
Whether you’re poor, black, or LGBT,
The world’s people are the same,
But just maybe,
Our eyes have changed, free to see.
End