Thursday, 1 January 2009


Coming Soon!



Dirty Linen

Why are women
Still rinsing out their dirty linen
behind closed doors?
Unable to voice the truth
of their religions systematic abuse
providing him, with his excuse
To remind her, of her position
Spiritual submission

Silenced by the puritanical left
helping to stitch up our lips
with political correctness.
Covering up Sharia
and its political objectives.

Cultural relativism has become
a conceptual prison for the mind
Designed, To strip away
Our right to criticise theocracy
and dangerous ideologies
Fear of causing you offence
has us self policing
In their defence
respect no longer earned
But freely given
Where our tolerance involves
granting freedom of religion for all

But what about

Freedom, from religion
demanding our respect
Whilst raping
the female power to object
To beliefs,
which have a dirty history.
Hidden between
blood stained pages
holy words and phrases
Ripe for the patriarchal
Filled with sanctifications
To hate, to rape, to mutilate
Hidden beneath the cloth
Hanging out their dirty linen
Behind closed doors.
While we look the other way
Pretending, we cant see
The similarities
with our own stained
religious histories.

Unable to grasp
lessons from the past
Imprisoned by
Our Cultural division
Unable to show solidarity
With our sisters of
a different skin and religion

Yet i'm the one labelled a racist because I refuse to believe
That women are praying
Upon their knees
For the right
To be considered
An inferior species

As the Liberals
and the intellectuals
Spout sanitized sound bites
defending Muslim women
And their rights
to choose
Whilst supporting
the rights of her religion
to abuse

While the ministry of peace
And its propaganda machine
Is defending sharia
and its torturing regimes
Following the will
Of the mighty Allah
And his wrath
Against the dirty kufar
Apostates, Atheists
and Liberated women

Fleeing judgement
And their
Bloody punishments
Stoning, beheadings
and honour killings.
Seeking asylum
and secular rights
under attack
by the Islamic right
its global mission
To sharia, creeping in
under the cover
Of religious
Its citizens
well trained
In the art of double think
Religious holy rights
oblivious to the real fight
against oppressive regimes
justifying their extremes
and bleaching their dirty linen
Granny's First Gift

My Granny’s first gift
was to knit me a shawl.
Like a shroud
she bound me up real tight.
Like a present
dressed in pure white.
To be given over to him
so he could forgive me
for my first mortal sin.
Coming to earth
clothed in nothing
but my own silken skin.
and saturated in the smell
of my ancestors sin.

She stood upon his alter
so proudly, on display
the day that she
gave me away
to the almighty
and his earthly emissary.
To be washed clean
by the sign of his cross.
In the name of the father, his son
and the holy ghost.
The cold, drips from his
welcome me
into this
exclusive family
where indoctrination
is a, lifetimes occupation.
Calling upon
his surrogate parents
to fulfil
their sacred role.

As I was sold

A sacrificial slave
for the price
of their salvation
from damnation
while the congregation


Before rising
from their pews
to sing their praises to
my holy father
who is sucking it all in
as if he’d, just squeezed me
from his own
stretched and bloodied skin.
Taking a bow
for mankind
for Adam
and his mystically missing rib.
As my mothers role in creation
is taken.
By this robed
baby snatcher.
who likes them young
Spongey and innocent
Just waiting to be
filled up
by the word.

So as soon as I can walk
barely able to talk
just a curious little tot
scrambling for
coloured crayons
out the box
to scribble
between the lines
of a broken Jesus
hanging upon his cross
for me
and my future sin
which is curled up
inside my hymen
like the serpent
to suck my victims in
tempting them to take
that first fleshy taste
Juices dribbling
down our skin
until we are guilty
and confessing.

While He
He’s getting off
on the thought
Of me
a miniature bride
kneeling upon his alter
and opening up my mouth
real wide
to take the body of Christ
swallowing it down
with his spilt blood
down my chin
while the congregation


Wet eyed at the sight
of these pretty little
girls dressed up in white.
All secretly wishing for that
special day
when Daddy
will give them away.

Sold off

As veiled
virgin wives
to their husbands
and his rights
to a fuck
when he likes.

My life unfolds
before my eyes
Until I’m standing
upon his alter
and swearing myself away
Promising to be
so faithful and true
to this man
whose standing in for you.

As the congregation


Their creation
taking up her mystical vocation.
winking and waiting
for that, final deed
the sowing of his seed.
and the pattering
of tiny
Christian feet.

My Grannies final gift
was to knit me
a christening shawl.
For me to bind
my unborn child in.
It lays yellowing
wrapped up
in tissue paper
and waiting for the day
when I’m finally
strong enough
to throw it away.
A Clash of Un-Civilisations

The military, industrial complex
and its capitalist conquest.
Political Islam and its
religious crusade
These war mongering
bureaucracies and theocracies
sending out their
patriarchal representatives.
Well versed Muslim clerics
and polished politicians
dictating public opinion.
Tribal leaders pounding upon
Their war drums.
Masters of manipulation
and justification
and religious extremism
just too sides
of the one spinning coin.
Demanding the ultimate sacrifice
that we lay down our right to life.
For patriarch and its authority
to send its children out
like expendable plastic pieces
to their slaughter.

These two poisonous ideologies
Feeding from one other
Like the serpent suckling
upon its own swollen tail
Dependant upon each other
For their creation
of a common enemy.

Their real enemy
is you and me
and our struggle
for equality
The real victims
and their children.
into submission.
Bodies beaten
blown to bits
Sacrificed upon the alter of belief
Take AIM

The battle call has come
to join the revolution of our time.
To open up our hearts
and deprogramme our minds.
To these soothing lies
which have kept us, pacified
preoccupied and striving to satisfy
consumer, created greed.

Oblivious to humanities dying needs
the ability to feed
our starving children
and prevent the bombing
of innocent civilians.
Locked up prisons
we are all, victims
of man’s many dirty isms.

So the time has come to say
“No, not in my name.”
I refuse to play
your genocidal war games.
Cause domination
at any cost?
has lost.

We are, no longer deceived
by our faulty beliefs.
The desire, for peace
is dissolving old boundaries
eroding in the force, of today.
Realising, that it’s only… energy
flowing through our fleshy walls.
Cause collectively we are
but one mind.

Whose energy grows strong
as this same message is formed
from a crescendo
of revolutionary songs
resonating through these
war torn streets
calling for Justice
Solidarity and Peace.


The answer that humanity seeks
are finally within our reach.
All we have to do is… breathe
open our half shut eyes and… see
release a heartfelt cry and grieve
for our loss of humanity.

Its time to FIGHT BACK!
from the heart
reclaim the mind
and join this revolution of our time
to collectively say
“ NO, not in our name.”




A Spectrum of Griefin The Open Minds Quarterly: A Psychosocial Literary Journal, Summer (2003) Volume V, Issue II
Set to self destruct posted on
Writers Circle Online (2003)
Open Semi Finalist (2002) in the International Open Poetry Competition, printed in Letters from the Soul (2003)
Survivor’s Suit of Feathers in A Source of Wisdom: A Poetry Anthology (2003)


Lilith on Facebook

© 2012, Lilith. All rights reserved.

No comments:

Post a Comment