poem
The Amputated Limbs Of Children
Listen to a reading by Tim Foley:
https://medium.com/media/22303f9900408d23b08b7d10dd4fa5c3/href
“I want my legs back,” the girl cried in Arabic.
“I want my legs back.”
You can’t have your legs back, little girl.
They have been eaten by a hungry machine
who needs them for fuel to power its gears.
The machine needs your legs to keep the sky raining bombs
and to make its death robots fly.
Your legs power the bulldozers digging mass graves
and the tanks blowing holes in the hospitals.
A glorious kingdom is held together
by the amputated limbs of children.
A pentagon-shaped castle is built from the bones
of the amputated limbs of children.
Wall Street werewolves and bank boys dine
on the amputated limbs of children.
Movie stars treat their wrinkles with creams
made from the amputated limbs of children.
Suburban families prop up their smiles
with the amputated limbs of children.
The news man lies and in his eyes
you see the amputated limbs of children.
The podium man smirks and between his teeth
are the amputated limbs of children.
And the little girl cries,
and the news man ignores her,
and the podium man smirks at her,
and the bank boy bites her,
and the machine rolls on,
limbs fed into its furnace with pitchforks,
crushing houses and blackening the sky,
poisoning the oceans and bloodying the earth,
while the air fills with the crying of children,
for limbs that will never come back,
for homes that will never come back,
for mothers that will never come back,
for childhoods that will never come back,
for brightness that will never come back,
for innocence that will never come back,
for dreams that will never come back,
for joy that will never come back.
And we are here,
eating cheesy meatcarbs and watching funny haw-haws
and gossiping and prattling and wishing we looked better
and trying not to think about all the tiny arms and legs
we see covering the earth
whenever we step outside.
❖
Afshin Rattansi on Twitter: ""I want my legs back"-11-year-old Palestinian girl Razan Muneer Arafat wakes up to find her legs amputated, after she was injured by US-UK-EU-armed Israeli airstrikesHorror such as this, given the all clear by the US-led 'rules-based order' https://t.co/L8g0N2eZxs pic.twitter.com/XGSBTTKkTJ / Twitter"
"I want my legs back"-11-year-old Palestinian girl Razan Muneer Arafat wakes up to find her legs amputated, after she was injured by US-UK-EU-armed Israeli airstrikesHorror such as this, given the all clear by the US-led 'rules-based order' https://t.co/L8g0N2eZxs pic.twitter.com/XGSBTTKkTJ
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My work is entirely reader-supported, so if you enjoyed this piece here are some options where you can toss some money into my tip jar if you want to. Go here to find video versions of my articles. Go here to buy paperback editions of my writings from month to month. All my work is free to bootleg and use in any way, shape or form; republish it, translate it, use it on merchandise; whatever you want. The best way to make sure you see the stuff I publish is to subscribe to the mailing list on Substack, which will get you an email notification for everything I publish. All works co-authored with my husband Tim Foley.
Bitcoin donations: 1Ac7PCQXoQoLA9Sh8fhAgiU3PHA2EX5Zm2
Dancing Outside The Concentration Camp
Listen to a reading by Tim Foley:
https://medium.com/media/52bf56f685d10102416ef4ecc65647c0/href
Dancing outside the concentration camp,
rave music pounding through our bones like bombs.
A disco at the genocide, baby.
A disco at the genocide.
Twerking outside the open-air prison.
Raving while Gaza asphyxiates.
Twirling glow sticks while a Final Solution is planned.
Just an innocent bit of fun.
Chill out and dance outside the concentration camp.
What could possibly go wrong?
We’ve got the IDF looking after us.
They’d never let anything bad happen.
So dance while the Palestinians are squeezed to death.
Dance while the polar ice caps melt.
Dance while the oceans fill with plastic.
Dance while the rainforests disappear.
Dance while nuclear warheads are primed.
Dance while mothers scream impossible screams.
Dance while the arms industry reaps record profits.
Dance while fathers pick up pieces of their kids.
Dance while AI helps exterminate families.
Dance while Gazans dehydrate under rubble.
Dance while limbs are amputated without anaesthesia.
Dance while death machines patrol the sky.
Dance while the news man fills our heads with lies.
Dance while the podium man denies everything he sees.
Dance while the sharptooth manipulators scheme.
Dance while our minds are turned into machines.
Dance to the beat of imperial psytrance.
Dance to the beat of the Pentagon Polka.
What could possibly go wrong?
Dance outside the concentration camp.
A disco at the genocide, baby.
A disco at the genocide.
_________________
My work is entirely reader-supported, so if you enjoyed this piece here are some options where you can toss some money into my tip jar if you want to. Go here to find video versions of my articles. Go here to buy paperback editions of my writings from month to month. All my work is free to bootleg and use in any way, shape or form; republish it, translate it, use it on merchandise; whatever you want. The best way to make sure you see the stuff I publish is to subscribe to the mailing list on Substack, which will get you an email notification for everything I publish. All works co-authored with my husband Tim Foley.
Bitcoin donations: 1Ac7PCQXoQoLA9Sh8fhAgiU3PHA2EX5Zm2
I Don’t Need Guns I Need Fire Extinguishers
Listen to a reading by Tim Foley:
https://medium.com/media/5b51cba64c95fcb31f4653167e690572/href
Pointing pistols as the man burns,
as Gaza burns,
as civilization burns,
as the planet burns.
I don’t need guns
I need fire extinguishers.
Raytheon racketeers and Pentagon pimps
swollen fat from the blood of unnamed victims
glossed over in headlines by The New York Times
while National Guard troops patrol the New York subways
and babies with legs like toothpicks fill our screens.
Pouring arms into Israel
while humanitarian-LARPing aid airdrops.
Waving around armageddon weapons
while accusing peacemongers of treason.
Well sure I’d ask for seconds mister president sir,
but see I don’t need guns
I need fire extinguishers.
I need someone to put some fat back on those babies.
I need someone to get the plastic out of the oceans.
I need the bombs to stop and the siege to lift
and a healthy planet for the kids to play in.
I need kids to stop getting their limbs blown off
so they can run and play in that healthy world.
Can you drone strike me a thriving biosphere?
Can you ICBM those Gazans some food?
Can you extinguish this fire with your weapons and wars?
No?
Then get outta the way man.
We don’t need guns
we need fire extinguishers.
“Free Palestine,” the man on fire said.
“FREE PALESTINE!” he screamed.
And then the cops showed up with their guns and their bullets,
because of course they fucking did.
And Gaza still burns,
and the world still burns,
and our eyes still burn,
and our lungs still burn,
and our hearts still burn,
and our rage still burns,
and they promise us the burning will stop
if we just add in a few more guns.
We don’t need guns you stupid cop.
We need this burning world to heal.
_______________
My work is entirely reader-supported, so if you enjoyed this piece here are some options where you can toss some money into my tip jar if you want to. Go here to buy paperback editions of my writings from month to month. All my work is free to bootleg and use in any way, shape or form; republish it, translate it, use it on merchandise; whatever you want. The best way to make sure you see the stuff I publish is to subscribe to the mailing list on Substack, which will get you an email notification for everything I publish. All works co-authored with my husband Tim Foley.
Bitcoin donations: 1Ac7PCQXoQoLA9Sh8fhAgiU3PHA2EX5Zm2
Solo shows for 2024
I’m doing a few solo poetry shows this year, starting this month with Chester, Lincoln & Scarborough.
I’ll be in Falmouth, Totnes & Launceston in April. And Belfast & Dublin in October.
If you fancy coming along to a show, you can get tickets here: https://brianbilston.com/events/
When The Slaughter Stops In Gaza
Listen to a reading by Caitlin Johnstone:
https://medium.com/media/5bf3a8ca7a8046ea103122ab8b1b15df/href
When the slaughter stops in Gaza
I will get to those cobwebs, promise,
and water that monstera,
and clean out that goo in the fridge.
When the slaughter stops in Gaza
I will youtube how to grow strawberries,
and whether dinosaurs ever had feathers,
and what’s the deal with hibachis —
is it something to do with fondue?
When the slaughter stops in Gaza
I will brush my hair out finally,
and call my Mum god bless her
and make her a perfect lasagna —
no, two; I’ll make one for freezing,
and I’ll give Dad back his drill.
When the slaughter stops in Gaza
I will teach myself ‘Nightswimming’,
and do a drawing of that face
that I took a pic of with my camera
in that packed tram in peak-hour
Back Before All This Happened,
and I’ll make some kind of cake.
When the slaughter stops in Gaza
I will sit with my love in our camp chairs,
our fingers entwined with our heart strings,
kicking coals awake til magpies
chortle “oh boy are you guys still up?”
and then I’ll let him give me an orgasm —
the kind that rips through veils.
When the slaughter stops in Gaza
I’ll have my friend for dinner,
and we can watch her vampire show
and talk about her Dad
who died seven millennia and three lives ago
in September of 2023.
And we will lay upon the couch
our teeth stained black with wine,
and we will giggle about dumb things,
and one of us will fart
and the other will fall off the couch,
and it will be good and kind and sweet,
and not once will we see dead babies
or kids ripped from their mums,
or servicemen lit on fire
screaming “Free Palestine, FREE PALESTINE!”
and have our hearts thump in our mouths,
teeth clacking like a piano,
nails digging into flesh,
because everything is awful
and nothing makes sense,
and those men are so horrible,
and why won’t they stop them
and why won’t they stop them
and why won’t they stop
why won’t they stop
But until then, I will roll out of bed,
do a chore and eat a thing,
brush my teeth and drink some water
thump my chest and howl in sorrow
hug my babies, sniff their hair,
and get back in the fight.
________________
My work is entirely reader-supported, so if you enjoyed this piece here are some options where you can toss some money into my tip jar if you want to. Go here to buy paperback editions of my writings from month to month. All my work is free to bootleg and use in any way, shape or form; republish it, translate it, use it on merchandise; whatever you want. The best way to make sure you see the stuff I publish is to subscribe to the mailing list on Substack, which will get you an email notification for everything I publish. All works co-authored with my husband Tim Foley.
Bitcoin donations: 1Ac7PCQXoQoLA9Sh8fhAgiU3PHA2EX5Zm2
Feature image via Rawpixel (CC0 1.0 Universal)
2024 Shows (warning: may contain poetry)
Well done, everybody, for making it to January 569th.
I’ve been grateful for those extra days this month, as it’s given me time to get my head together for my 2024 shows, which begin in just over two weeks’ time with a run of dates with the fabulous poet (and human) Henry Normal. We start on 16th February in Bexhill-on-Sea on the south coast.
Places and dates
Shows in Nottingham and Monmouth have now sold out – alongside Salford, Leeds, Exeter, Bath, Stroud and Leek.
There are only a handful of tickets remaining for London, Oxford, Bury St Edmunds, Coventry and Ilkley.
Tickets are also on sale for Sunderland, Barrow, Wolverhampton, Norwich, Berwick-upon-Tweed, Stirling, Aberdeen, Dundee, Edinburgh, Glasgow, plus two new shows announced last week: Bristol and Southampton.
And a small reminder that I’m doing a few solo shows this year in fancy coming along to one: Chester, Lincoln, Scarborough, Falmouth, Totnes, Launceston, Belfast and Dublin.
More places and dates
If you came to see me last year and for some strange reason are considering coming along again, then you might be reassured to know I’ll be reading a bunch of new poems (alongside a few older ones). There’s a guarantee of a least two new jokes or your money back (terms and conditions apply*).
Links to more information and tickets can be found on this page: 2024 shows and ticket info
* Brian Bilston reserves the right to define what constitutes a joke. A joke may not always be dependent on laughter.
Strange Groceries
Listen to a reading by Tim Foley:
https://medium.com/media/d013ea615f215fdea1d420b0a35880f2/href
What strange groceries that man is carrying
Odd shapes in two plastic bags
Dripping blood
They look like they weigh more than the world
Head bowed
Eyes screwed shut
Step after step, feet like lead
Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah
What are those strange groceries you carry, sir?
These are my children, he says through a clenched jaw
They have had a long and weary day
And it is time to put them to bed
His face is wet with tears
And his arms are shaking
He walks on
Heavy feet with a heavy burden
Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah
Oh Allah
____________
____________
____________
My work is entirely reader-supported, so if you enjoyed this piece here are some options where you can toss some money into my tip jar if you want to. Go here to buy paperback editions of my writings from month to month. All my work is free to bootleg and use in any way, shape or form; republish it, translate it, use it on merchandise; whatever you want. The best way to make sure you see the stuff I publish is to subscribe to the mailing list on Substack, which will get you an email notification for everything I publish. All works co-authored with my husband Tim Foley.
Bitcoin donations: 1Ac7PCQXoQoLA9Sh8fhAgiU3PHA2EX5Zm2
2024 Tour
In the last few days, I’ve read poems in Ely, Birmingham, St Andrews, Edinburgh and Brighton; each event was lovely and special in its own way. A big thank you to everyone who came along to them, and indeed, to all the 15,000 people who have dragged themselves to my 59 shows this year.
In terms of 2024, a couple of new dates have been added:
BARROW-in FURNESS (19 Feb – with Henry Normal): TICKETS HERE
and a second evening of my solo show in SCARBOROUGH (22 March): TICKETS HERE
For my shows with Henry Normal, these ones are selling like hotcakes: BURY ST EDMUNDS, EXETER, LEEDS, LONDON, SALFORD and STROUD, so you might need to be quick if you fancy coming along.
Tickets for these ones are selling like warm buns: BATH, COVENTRY, MONMOUTH, NOTTINGHAM, OXFORD and SUNDERLAND, so I wouldn’t wait too long.
And these ones could do with some heating up: ABERDEEN, BEXHILL-ON-SEA, DUNDEE, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW, ILKLEY, NORWICH, STIRLING, WOLVERHAMPTON.
And just a reminder that I’ve got a few solo shows next year, too: BELFAST, CHESTER, DUBLIN, FALMOUTH, LAUNCESTON, LINCOLN, SCARBOROUGH, TOTNES.
Anyway, you can find out details of ALL these shows here: https://brianbilston.com/events/
Finally, would tickets to one of these make a nice gift for somebody this Christmas?*
I couldn’t possibly comment.
* YES
Israeli government ‘ordered assassination’ of Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer
Netanyahu cabinet approved murder of Palestinian poet who mocked discredited atrocity propaganda, says Tikkun Olam security site
The Netanyahu government officially approved the murder of Palestinian poet, academic and activist Refaat Alareer, according to a website known for its sources inside the Israeli security apparatus.
Tikkun Olam, a news site run by writer Richard Silverstein, whose title refers to a concept in Judaism of healing the world, has broken a string of firsts since its creation in 2003 – and it has this to say about the assassination of Prof Alareer, who had mocked Israel’s now thoroughly-discredited atrocity propaganda about the murder and dismemberment of babies during the 7 October Hamas kibbutz raid:
Israel ordered Refaat Alareer’s assassination after derided Israeli claim of babies burned in an oven as hoax. He was right, but died for it.
Refaat was a Palestinian poet and professor. It’s rare that countries assassinate poets. Not just murder them in wartime, but intentionally assassinate them…
But Refaat was an unusual combination of teacher and activist. He not only taught his students Palestinian poetry. He also taught them Hebrew poetry. For this, he was profiled in the New York Times: In Gaza, a Contentious Palestinian Professor Calmly Teaches Israeli Poetry. And the Times published an op-ed by him as well: My Child Asks, ‘Can Israel Destroy Our Building if the Power Is Out?’
Unlike Israel’s educational system, which promotes a triumphalist ideological indoctrination, Alareer’s teaching of Hebrew poetry analyzed and appreciated the beauty of the language, but critiqued that ideology underpinning it. This clearly unnerved the Times editors, presumably pressured by one of alphabet soup of pro-Israel media watchdog groups (CAMERA, MEMRI, Honest Reporting, etc), and published a “correction” to the profile.
He responded to them (unfortunately they did not offer a full quotation of what he wrote):
…He denied that there was a “substantial change” in his teaching and said that showing parallels between Palestinians and Jews was his “ultimate goal.” But he said that Israel used literature as “a tool of colonialism and oppression” and that this raised “legitimate questions” about Mr. Amichai’s poem.
Apparently, this sort of social-political-ideological analysis of literature, a method taught at almost all educational institutions, troubled these editors. Instead, their correction implied he was a propagandist, rather than an academic professor…
I broke the story here about Israel’s security cabinet issuing the Amalek Directive to assassinate six senior Hamas leaders and their families. It also similarly targeted specific journalists and their families. The IDF has murdered 80 journalists suggesting that it is deliberately targeting them for execution. This is a war crime.
An Israeli security source confirms my suspicion that the cabinet ordered Refaat’s execution, because his joke marked him as being a member of the tribe of Amalek. An eternal enemy of the Jewish people. He was no such thing of course.
He was a poet, a teacher who loved literature. He was also a champion of his people. He was an implacable enemy of injustice. For that he died. Along with him, Israel killed his brother, sister and their four children. It knew it would them along with the intended target. But killing entire families is now the Israeli modus operandi...
Refaat was displaced multiple times during this war and ended up at his sister’s home along with his parents, wife and children. A few days ago, Refaat moved with his wife and children to an UNRWA school in al-Tufah neighborhood in Gaza according to his family.
However, a close friend of Refaat’s told Euro-Med Monitor that he had received an anonymous phone call from someone who identified himself as an Israeli officer and threatened Refaat that they knew precisely the school where he was located and were about to get to his location with the advancement of Israeli ground troops.
While the credibility of the threat itself is unclear, it contributed to prompting Refaat to move back to his sister’s apartment, believing it was more concealed than an open and overcrowded school where it would have been difficult to hide.
For weeks since the start of this war, Refaat has been receiving numerous death threats and hateful messages from Israeli accounts on social media after prominent public figures [Bari Weiss, among others] singled him out for harassment and incitement.
In 2014, Israel bombed Refaat’s home in Shejaiya and killed over 30 of his and his wife’s families.
Read the full story, including details of how Refaat Alareer was stalked, threatened and ultimately murdered, and details of how Silverstein’s attempts to spread the news on social media were censored, here.
Many if not most of the Israeli victims of the Hamas raid are now known to have been killed by Israeli forces as part of the so-called ‘Hannibal doctrine’. Despite the abundance of evidence, the UK and other western media continue to ignore it.
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