Eleven poems by Ali Abdolrezaei
Death to the Dictator
Hey Mr, Master, Sir, Supreme Leader,
After the last comma Come on!
Put a full stop!
From the moment’s roof top
Today’s crying Death to the Ruthless
Tomorrow’s its witness
Don’t fire on unarmed loneliness
All folks have spilt to the street which leads to the sea
See!
The water that’s flowed
Won’t return to the river
Why fire on protesters?
Their bloody palms are waving to your hammer which is coming down
Watch!
Which is your mother? Brother? Sister?
Dear Mr, Sir, Supreme Leader
Hey whoremaster!
Facing you
The question mark that’s whying
Is the comer!
Microphone
He’s a dic dic dictator who forced you to write a dic dic dictation about his fac fact as a fucking fac factory which’s making king in your thing thing
Think!
Go on strike!
Please!
Turn off this fucking Mike!
Elections
I’m not in your company
My honey!
Leave it!
The best choice in this election
Is my erection
Come on!
Exile
Of course I’m fine!
As a single line
In an empty file
I’m in exile which means
Thinking about nothing
Singing without voice
Fuck!
There are no bits
In this orange juice!
News
That’s it!
I’m getting fat
And have to put on my head
a big hat
There is an old cat
in my mind
that’s doing a few meows
Listen!
That’s my news
Poets
Poets are chains of mountains
I wish that summits meet
To say hey
high
to each other
Electric
Although my jacket has no pockets
All lights are connected to sockets
I’m abused
Though you’re the same drug which I refused
If my plug touch your socket
How much electric is used?
Disco
What’s the difference between me and
you who’re off to Disco?
For discount
I am going to Tesco
Penis
Although I’m left
I write right
About your juicy pussy this tight!
Don’t ask me what happened to you that night
I’m a communist who makes love by pen
Pen is my all
My whole is penis
Clapping for God
The River Thames is off where?
The London eye’s high why?
Who made my sky shy?
This Town’s vomited its people
Although my cup is empty
All windows are full of tea
What’s wrong with the city?
London is a song which the stranger sings at sunset
Let’s clap for all these Please!
In Mr of street
Why is that babe wandering in Mr of street which could be
everybody
except me?
It’s getting dark
The park is sleepy
My heart but is parked on an old seat
Like some desperate hands
Branches of two trees are hugging
This oak is my mother
That elder my father
Why is not my wife
The girl who is passing by
In front of me?
