Eleven poems


 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


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


Which is your mother? Brother? Sister?

Dear Mr, Sir, Supreme Leader

Hey whoremaster!

Facing you

The question mark that’s whying

Is the comer!













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


Go on strike!


Turn off this fucking Mike!
















I’m not in your company

My honey!

Leave it!

The best choice in this election

Is my erection

Come on!












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


There are no bits

In this orange juice!














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


That’s my news











Poets are chains of mountains

I wish that summits meet

To say hey


to each other








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?











What’s the difference between me and

you who’re off to Disco?

For discount

I am going to Tesco








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


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?

Meet Iranian Singles

Iranian Singles

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Serena Shim Award
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Meet your Persian Love Today!