Saira's Poetry

Pink and blue the paradise hue of weeping flowers on dust grit dunes 
They wait in vain for soldiers’ names bleeding bile and collateral shame 
Blackened palm trees 
Ooze sweat and grief
As children scream for democracy
And pomegranate blossoms stain desert sands 
While allied forces bomb the land

Star shaped blooms with leaves of green
And fragrant petals of silken cream
Await their fate with shrunken pride 
As rocket launchers seize the night 
Purple, Iris, Lotus Rose 
Sliced on Kodak with mangled toes
And tulips spiked with canon fire 
Leave belly guts in makeshift pyres 

Juniper, date, and pin wheel buds 
Stung with shrapnel - clotted with mud 
And from the scabbing surface shell
The charred cinder spark of a dead man’s smell

Cluster plants sprayed with oil
Guerrilla triggers clip the soil
Petals bruised, now scored with hate 
Swollen clouds seeping rain 
And with the morning dew comes love 
Electric sunlight and turtle doves 
Singing chords of hope and peace 
A wall of flowers in perfect unity

Somebody took over America
‘Grabbed her by the pussy,’ and slammed her against the wall
Was she drugged by Nembutal?
Now she’s awake and on fire
Somebody took over America!

Somebody took over America
He’s a butt tongued billionaire
Blue talking gut -busting pork faced kook
With whip stitched, straw coloured hair
Uses populist themes to build sand castle dreams
And at every turn has a new trick – a novelty up his sleeve

He sits in squalid luxury
An obscene tower of gold plated power
Dollar don demagogue the Washington red of
White sheet ‘supremacy,’
Bitch slapped reason and sucker punched integrity

Somebody took over America
She is the smiling face of capitalist shame
Endorsed by big bucks celebrities
Pop diva Katy, and soul sista Bee
They wear shiny dresses, and pose hand on hip on TV
For the private queen of Wall Street

Somebody took over America
Jenny L penned an ‘open,’ letter to a chi-chi magazine
She wants everyone to read her state of the nation address,
Because she’s a world famous actress
But war hawk Hillary and her bloody bomb drops,
That stream of wiki leaks ,Weiner dick sleaze and husband Bill
Hardened and turned voters’ hearts –
Flag-waving feminists –
Bum-rushed by a stars and stripes misogynist

Somebody took over America
They say it’s okay to call Michelle
‘An ape in heels,’ do they know how that feels?
It’s red neck trash-talk comes straight outta
the swamp,
Melania rocks a silver thong and
her waxed punnani for all to see
She’s Johnny’s wet dream but that won’t stop the
Cheerleading racists of Trump’s plutocracy

Somebody took over America
And they’re giving out fake deportation orders at school
Against ‘Mexicans,’ ‘Muslims,’ and ‘Jews’
They’re dabbing walls with hate,
Offering, the crumbling remains of
The American dream on a plate

Somebody took over America
Now what’s the world going to do?
Stand on the side-lines and watch,
The rise of a demon god.


Saira Viola
Illustration: Joey Feldman

Listen to Saira read her poem - click here!


finalz00aPic by Unitas



Across The Tracks

Flush out the twitching fascists from their privileged towers of capital power

Hang out the headscarves like flags of insurrection

Pie fly five o who blow up young asteroids

And bring the double dealing, poison elite to their knees

The fat cock wallets of global war machines can easily

eradicate world poverty

Send out love bombs and peace grenades

with magic keys to free all slaves

Knock down the walls of human apartheid

preach  unity between Jew and gentile

Crack the corrupt system –

make the power chieftains listen

The long arm of the law always

right hooks the poor

while bombastic billionaires ejaculate their way to freedom

Expose the inside silt of toilet lies

And the unlawful murder of truth provocateurs

Aaron Swartz wizard of the web

cyber pioneer hung by his belt –

they said it was suicide

prosecutors unwilling to compromise, so we

lost a dreamer, real rainmaker of our times –

Open the doors with mercy

Unclasp the chastity belt of ignorance

and let the curtain down on those big caboosed botox  bikini babes – with cash fed

pouts and rhinestone vaginas

Leave the smoking rooms of stale cigar paymasters

splattered with the dysentery of broken families –

drowning in debt – ‘home ,’ is a storm drain in Vegas

or a bed on a bench in a public park

a pile of grey flowers on the calloused  heel of the city

a shop front, a waste pit, in the dark

Open the show with fake promises and tired white rhetoric

as high fire – sharpie stencilled soldiers, burn through parchment onto

the battle field their eating flesh – red bellies bursting –

Ox-cart hands now calamine pink –

Matchstick limbs snapped like twigs on a gangrene landscape

Attack  the thick lipped grin of motor mouthed demagogues

Can you hear the diesels humming?

Time to cross – get to the other side

And occupy!

Occupy your life your world your soul.


Saira Viola

Lucky lips wet soft.
Tastes like peaches and black honey.
Neon pink negligée
hides school boy giggles
behind a bridal bouquet.

Mister love rock and hottie boom boom 
slide into the five and dime where everything’s on sale: 
Cotton candy smiles, peanut kisses
and there’s plastic chicks on sticks 
cream horns and cinnamon curls on display.

Dance in the elevator.
Slick slide the sidewalk. 
Drive down the interstate 
with a bottle of sunshine
and a fistful of luck.
Stop off in a layby:
Do cartwheels and headstands 
on b- movie grins.

In a sherbet lavender pop parade
of tea leaf readers, fawning crawlies and
masked barracudas.
We need cleansing in the Pierian spring.
Free fall into a winking dawn 
Play pat -a-cake with a leaping unicorn 
And shimmy skate across a waffle dust moon.

Click here to listen to Saira read Half-Conscious Poem


Whispers under sleep

and I fly to the red river

barefoot silken robe undone

shadows on the floor

I see a silver blue-eyed flea riding on a bicycle of dust

a birthday balloon and the long face of death

he has a hooded blacked-out face red daffodil fangs

and whistles the names of the chosen ones.

On the counter different coloured truths

I spy the nose of a gun but can’t be sure

my eyes half closed under a cloud

and yellow fog cocoons me

as I step back: all around

the voices of anger dicing for life

and the right to be seen to be heard

a million and three stories

trapped in Chimera’s rotting stomach.

The light is smothered by the fat thumb of depression

yesterday’s tiny square of sun

shredded and scattered over a stale afternoon.

There is nothing in-between no toothy smile

just those who sit in the nostril of self-satisfaction

and there it is on an illuminated sign:

More Fall Prey to Debticide.

The questions are etched on my hand

the answers spread on the dinner table

easy cook microwaved baby sick

a bottle of mineral water

and a mouldering half-eaten hamburger

a police of flies circle crawl defecate

on the cindered hump of meat.

This is the golden head of my reality

a five hundred and fifty-two percent increase

on a snake loan to save the family home.

I watched the pin-striped laughter of the jet-skiing

bully boys drink up my mother’s blood

and I remain restless in a one-stop roach motel while they

sleep like suckling kittens under the belly of a black night.

Over eight million somebodies in this city 
some live rough others live pretty 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
Once you had a place to call your own 
a land, a space somewhere safe, called ‘home.’ 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
The stars in the sky 
streaking silver smiles 
disguise loud mouthed hatred and 
political lies 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
The willow tree hangs her head in shame 
ruffled collared daffodils 
do the same 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
They let in Pekinese pooches in bow ties 
and snow white kittens with pleading eyes 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
They pack you up ,in cargo ships 
trapped like rats 
with the old and the sick 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
Visas, passports and id docs, 
border control and traffic blocks 
there’s no room for you my friend no room 
“If we open the gates they’ll come swarming in – they’ll steal our jobs,” 
and rape our women,” 
so, there’s no room for you my friend no room 
Saw gunfire and cluster bombs scar the night 
as soldiers and street militia prepare to die 
still there’s no room for you my friend no room 
Went to the mosque and watched worshippers pray 
together , heads bowed , a tableau of grace 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room 
Dreamt of paradise sun and a million feet 
marching across blossoms screaming: “liberty!” 
but there’s no room for you my friend no room.

99 in the shade built on brittle bones of

coolie  slaves,

sucking in dirt and debris for a pop tart –

glitter-back ballerina tee,

you’re top of the crop,

made in Sir G’s, Bangladeshi –

slavery -sweat shop,

cloth cities,  built on the chai- coloured wheeze

of blossoming pulmonary disease, and

yellow ridged knuckles of puny bare bone stretched over

malnourished toes


The choking yoke of childhood

smothered by the greedy

hiss of sewing machines

and pink silk, fairy fingers

picking, and pulling the seams – of a

a million or more dead-eye dreams


Made with care, little tots

too small to sit on chairs,

balance on boxes cross legged –

their playtime: needles and

pins gouging , pricking ,

pus the bin.


So when you slide on your skinnies – thigh pride blue or

rock those curves in hipsta flares

you also share,

Salma’s rickets, in those –

riveted  ridges,

and her grandmother’s tears

sewn in the pockets


Factory owners creaming the dream

part of Monaco’s

glorious elite,

sovereign state pride,

‘gap,’ country club smiles,

while children of Calcutta,

bare-back the pain of

pig-profit gain –

paying  for a  Black Friday,

price freeze

on worn riven knees

Slap them into place

A dime dollar disgrace –

wow wow pickaninny please –

Buy me -Buy me -Buy me

and the fist of servitude punches blue -punches green

Buy -me -Buy me

Till the milksops bleed.


Last Tuesday at around a quarter to ten

in the bowels of the subway-car-southbound

half-way to Brooklyn Bridge

I could hear your radical red-sexy words

as clear as singing glass


I waited until the twilight mammas grandpas

and freckle-assed party straphangers

slithered into the dawn

then smeared the walls

with uncensored thoughts:


Bastards! Bitches! Stiff-suited dull-eyed sycophants

sailing away on a celebrity gravy train 

First they fawn at your feet

then they kick you in the groin

Wasted chances with Mickey mouse orthodoxy

Trump-a-geddon is pig ugly

no more human faces just

sad shadows with dim pouched eyes

and little children caged 24/7 in

Amerika’s tender torture-land

You were right about shopping mall pimps

Big brained whales smart yellow jacketed bees

Beelzebub Boris

War-apocalyptic Autogeddon 

Property-porn daddies – magic trees

and the slow-sucking parasitic kiss of the British monarchy

Spiting truth – awakening minds

with the thunderous fuck of rebellion

Irritating those puffed up literary peacocks

in their genteel towers of

masturbatory-elitist-cultural power

A skin of light across corrupted skies

More than just a polymathic pinup

For hipster bards

You could set fire to those extremely white neo-Nazis types

with smooth- strung WORDOLOGY   

Death to coca cola!

Viva Frestoniana!

I could say a hundred and one times

THANK YOU for skinning the stinking gut of society

With bullet popping pen

 but instead I’ll remember your warm spirited hobgoblin giggle

and your poetic wisdom:

May you always be turbo charged Saira. The world has need of you. H.”

Picture: Elena Caldera

The cracking -biting -grey -sick -lips of Winter
bruising the old and the poor
slapping their purple frost -bitten faces with gusts of wind
infecting cuts – drowning lesions
A river of septicaemia
The curly bob tailed boils of weeping pus
ensconced in folds of fingers and toes
And the tea coloured wheeze of a tiny tot
shivers – all alone
On the pages of glamocracy
Stylish poses in ski suits and goggles
against a backdrop of Hollywood snow, and look there’s
Father Christmas – has he avoided the old white patriarch tag
Sleighing all over town –
a rascal of elves in tow ?
Would it be wrong to criticise the monoracial scenery
of the jet set in Klosters and Courchevel ?
The world’s slopes awash with dirty white money
Michelin starred hideaways private chefs and hot tubs
golden keys to an off shore magic circle where only
the very richest of the rich are on the list
And on the resisting night of New Year’s Eve
I think of all the razzmatazz angel frosted lighted trees
candy cane tinsel dreams corrupted voices preaching austerity
A homeless girl -eyelashes jewelled by snow
her entire universe huddled close
in the black garbage bag at her feet
Her hair dusted with icy rain
Silver strands glistening like diamonds
Hope somersaults towards her
a goofy kinky haired clown
He uses the breath of a nightingale
to place a winning lotto ticket
in her petal -thin hungry hand
And the stars are freewheeling the skies
with boogaloo poetics
And fountains of love flood the streets .

On the death of Heathcote Williams. Blue Venus of verse has left us.

Activist, film maker, mischief maker, love warrior, poet, gentle soul,
musical lion, goodbye goodbye goodbye


Photo: Richard Adams


When your magic sun comets the earth
The flame of rebellion burns
You are the song that rattles the soul
Pompadour haired poet prophet-punk preaching
to the world
You are the final word
Red snapper rebelista!
Lyrical Spartacus – in a maze of
The sharpened needle of truth
behind the hiss of Judas
flicker kicking with whales
Confabbing with elephants
Mischief making Puck –
inking walls and Buckingham Palace with protest-punch graffiti
Friend to the lost the dispossessed the hungry
Bob Marley tootin’ Emperor of Frestonia
Aristo’ don of Anarchy
Peanut brittle choco chomping British dandy!

Now that you’ve rocketed onto another plane
cherub-smiling dolphins
and tear cupped – daffodils
will sink in slumber
Bonobos and orang-utans will salute your cosmic laughter
Hot-lick word wit playa
Verses clap clap like purple thunder
slapping ignorance –
with spanky pants intelligence
– candy pale eyes
see the air is free
You are the whispered echo of conscience
on a Dizzy Gillespie breeze
Lexical spinning rock god
Skin thumping the drum – spreading your
wizardry on street corners and market stalls
You are that flowering amber butterfly
back flip jibing on talking leaves
The storied power of hope on
a bike of honey bees
The blood dust of a silver-petalled star
Bless up ! Prince Fiah !
A melody of tears may twist the lips of dawn
But your electric harpsichord of love plays on.

Saira Viola

Drawing: Elena Caldera


A reactionary wind sweeps the sidewalk -reliving 

those blond blue – eyed yesterdays

A hamster-cheeked white sugared boy

clenches his fist and under the curl of

his toddler grin he cries: ‘Don’t don’t sit here. Terrawist!’

Teeny weeny dimpled feet stomping on the blue checked seat

Milk toothed coral-lipped antagonist

Pulling apart the threads of her headscarf 

An awkward scene repeated on planes and trains 

and in the street

in shops and at the office

suited snakes stare at her -then recoil as if she 

were the one who murdered  them all

and anger sweats their lips

as they succumb to that  twang 

Platters of sorrow and dead tomorrows

if the divisive hand of blame won’t change.


.Saira Viola

Image: Elena Caldera

Pic: Elena Caldera


Known as  swinging dick – I  sit in belligerent  isolation
I salute the military but my over sized ego stops me from listening-
it’s the way I turn  my nose up  at the common man –
pimping  the pentagon to bankers  fixers  confidence tricksters  -almost anyone
I think I’ve got  a four  foot cock covered in Chuck Norris dust
I’m a snatch grab ‘n’ grease it man
I tell it like it is Blacks-Asians-Lesbians
Muslims- gays -Mexicans- trannies and refugees
They’re taking over
I see them everywhere -swarming parasites -in my neighbourhood -on my  TV
They get millions of dollars for doing nothing-
for playing victim
They have names that don’t belong here like Hope and Charity
I got a plan to make everything right again

I don’t believe the media
They embellish -distort make stuff up
I’m going to build  -kick start the economy
I’m doing it for me -myself and my family
It’s in the corners of my ass -tongue mouth
and my white -loving black -hating Chief of staff
I got a plan to make everything right again









I only read showbiz headlines
or snippets in the glitter press
Women must be beautiful:
long legs – silicone tits
I’m just  misunderstood they quote me out of context
I don’t believe in global warming – it’s a scam
I got a plan to make everything right again

I just wanna tell them my truth
I’m gonna make this beautiful
I’m gonna steal all your dreams –
and fuck you over
I’m in control
I’m the star of the show
When I look into the wounded eyes of my America
I know I can make everything right again.


Saira Viola


Celebrity – most misunderstood human asshole.

Every smile she fakes every tweet he makes –

for haemorrhoid ads and panty pads Kerching!

Listen to that sweet ring a ding ding.

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! Get naked for charity

Death – hunger –

dead babies in Bosnia

– ride that gravy train

like a bucking goat on heat –

take snappy snaps when you defecate and sleep.

Cloying – non-stop chin rubbing Uriah Heep!

Money nostrils flare – bum lick kisses with quacking billionaires

Gucci eye glistens – they endorse –

cue the applause – we all sit back and listen.

Get an invite to the palace.

Three-hour lunches at Soho House –

and at five thirty white orchids arrive at the front office.

‘Thank you,’ to the pimping pariahs of the corporate regime

The black teeth of greed – grinning – backstage all-access VIP.

Sell virgin hair

edible underwear

skinny mint tea

and silver tongued fantasies.

There’s a photo op pinned to the thigh of a pop sex prima donna

and a million likes up for grabs for her pet iguana.

Party in a limo –

he’ll be your bestie for a negotiated fee –

a Rolex watch – all expenses guaranteed.

Celebrity – A weapon of mass deflection.

Red rope segregation.

Let’s dissect Kate’s snake skin shoes

and Johnny’s latest Twitter feud.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’

‘A lick spitting Spaniel for the establishment?’

Fuck celebrity – safe – homogenised beauty –

fairy dust popularity – tax haven security and that weekend spread in Hello magazine.

Branded prostitution buys you riches and fame

but when the lights dim and you’re broken – too old to play the game –

as a foot print on this treasured earth ask yourself

How much are you really worth?


Saira Viola
Pic: Elena Caldera

Build the Wall! Lock her Up! Drain The Swamp!
Pop sloganeering from the Apprentice King
A roar of applause
This is high stakes un-scripted reality TV
‘People love me everybody loves me,’
‘The election is being rigged,’
‘I’m going to hire a Special Prosecutor to look into your situation.’
Are these the words of a ‘third world’ despot
No this is chalk talk from the silver tongued
‘Teflon Don’,
El Trumpo got control of litigation
Will shape the US courts for a generation
A bag of magic beans
For your blood bought liberty.


Saira Viola
Art: The Nightmare by Mark Bryan

Break it down!
The wall of ignorance that 
flowers hate 
The wall of credit 
that banks our fate

Tear it down!
The wall that hides 
the lines of truth 
The wall of hunger 
that kills our youth

Break it down! 
The wall that suckles the rich –
and screws the poor 
The wall of silence that feeds our fear

Tear it Down!
The wall that divides 
black lives from white 
The wall that separates 
Jew and Gentile

Break it down!
The wall that steals 
mother from child 
The wall of secrecy –
that hides the lies

Break it down!
The wall of oppression 
choking refugees 
The wall of Führer-fisted tyranny

Tear it down!
The wall of nose picking 
The wall of injustice you cannot see

Break it down!
The wall that enthrones 
white-gloved nobility 
The wall that glorifies celebrity 
And their polystyrene faux realities

Tear it down!
a thousand times!
The wall that kettles liberty 
The wall that enslaves our humanity.


Saira Viola
Art: EnDo

whats-eating-youThere she sits a rust pocket spinster
with twisted hip and crooked limp
her greying wisps of sick stringy hair
falling on weakened limbs -stick thin
her arms flop to one side like leafless twigs.
The red fire of death hissing through the trees
and the cruel lips of Autumn steal yet another breath.
There she is being sung to by a blossom -hued girl
her sun lit smile momentarily frees her from the
numbing beat of time.
And as the clock strikes she blinks
at the decaying stink of selfie- won stardom
a frenzied lust for riches and cunt
surrounds her.
Move in with those flattering film filters
hammy super grins of jammy youth –
as bloody froth pops rudely in a toddler’s throat
and Russian ballistic missiles and bottle bombs set Aleppo skies alight –
a gun powder symphony of sickening savagery
barrels dumped with shrapnel and gasoline –
a signature classic of the Assad Regime –
hot jets of human plasma detonate –
concentric body shock -flash burns –
spasms tear hands and legs and feet
they lie deep fried roasted stewed and boiled
human cuts of meat : upper thigh , heart, ribs, tender loin
carcass sweet : a prize -winning – photo opportunity.

Her home is now a brittle boned yesterday a boneyard of tears
and the lawyer Mister Weisman squats on the porch
the court rewarded him with her keys and the Deeds
for slow blood -letting usury- spawned by odious greed.
The wolf howls the night away and there are kinky dreams for sale
and silent voices ready to take a sledge hammer to this whole puppet show –
smoke screens will save the corporate bail out
and mobster pay offs
but the door is shut for simple truths
and angry palms remain outstretched for food .

A dry mouthed tomorrow awaits her
there’s no sign of an Asclepius wand
no hint of rebirth
just a pot of Earl Grey
and cough lozenges .
Her heroic eyes see through the lies.
She witnessed the killing of JFK
wept as the First Lady held onto half his brain
watched the bombs drop again and again
and cheered at the fall of the Berlin Wall.
She came from a different time
when women were sold with flocks of sheep
now they set their own price
but the highest bidder is still Mister Clean.
Is she any closer to the bridge ?
Cracked atoms find no peace
her candy apple flush
withered by time
bruised- now -liverwurst brown .
After Mary Magdalena Boadicea and Joan of Arc
after finding a room with a view with Virginia Woolf
and naked compassion with Sojourner Truth
she was the mini – skirted grin of ‘The Summer of Love,’
but still judgmental fingers point from above
Triggers aimed at Muslim burqas and policing bikinis on
French beaches sacré bleu !
G -string emancipation is a soft sell and Birkenstocks and bra burning
didn’t keep the world from turning -The Beatles played on .

She waits in silver shadows
under the dish cloth of an unknown charwoman
there’s no Eureka moment no noble recognition
just the crown of sacrifice and blistered knees
broken dream -back breaking -floor cleaning –
as she scrubs away the dawn the dirty truth revealed:
Dissenting tongues sing loudest
but the prison walls remain.


Saira Viola
Illustration: Elena Caldera



Thanks for gobble gobble bang bang on Kimmies titties

and the peachy cunt cream

that froths  up the ‘news’ stream

Thanks for the white hooded power of the KKK

and their torch lit stars and stripes parade


Thanks for the  Muslim bumper stickers

which say ‘Go Home’,

Death by lethal injection –

Disney blow jobs in the parking lot

And pawn shop- pay day loans


Thanks for legalizing reefer

Little kids still having seizures,

Cos they can’t get no cheeba

As the men in suits don’t believe us  

And thanks for the  malls of insanity,

your revolving doors of profanity  

For invading over fifty countries

To spread that thing they call ‘democracy,’


Thanks for Vietnam war vets,

And Standing Rock protests

For racial profiling,

And bastard Pinochet –

The  systemic murder of young black men

And the cock shot horror of Timothy McVeigh


Thanks for near asphyxia by plastic bag

From the Chicago Police

And sodomy with a plunger

by the NYC PD

How many lives does it cost

Just to breathe?


Thanks for setting the price

And the banana , the hot fudge and the nuts

Thanks for the triple A rating and

And stealing grandma’s house


Thanks for genetically modified crops

And Taylor Swift’s A list celeb girl squad

For plastic perfection

and widowed botox


Thanks for Miracle whip

And lab tested turkey

Toxic sweet diabetes

Death dealin’ bitchin’

And birthing  a ‘nigger bashing ,’ ‘Jew baiting,’

‘Muslim hating,’ society


Thanks for crowning Amazon King

And kneeling at the alter of e bay

For drive thru cocaine

And that ‘machete jungle,’ called LA


Thanks for day time soap operas

And the naked voyeurism of reality tv

For making every nobody famous

When they defecate and sleep


Thanks for those Washington bombs

And the sacrifice of the young

For  lip smackin’ onion Funyons

And radioactive lungs


Thanks for food stamps trailer homes

Rat meat and killer drones

Thanks for three strikes

And Gitmo,

Trump  power and

The Cosby show


Thanks for human bondage,

And camions of dead refugees

For presidential weapons of mass destruction

And pulling the plug on humanity


Thanks for making us all ‘Winston Smith,’

And for unleashing a sick green syphilis on

‘The Great American Dream,’ a never never land

A fabled stinking tale of Hollywood make believe.


Saira Viola
Montage: Claire Palmer

blood carnation
Look at you, all dressed up pretty 
spit polish shoes, iron pressed hair 
ribbons and medals 
and gold topped buttons 
behind a perspex frame –
can you be a weapon for change ?
Metal birds map the skies 
controlled by desk execs,
in starchy shirts, with land -grab eyes 
chimp-hands clapping at every missile fired. 
On sunken ground, a bank of thickening red gravy 
sun bubbles heating 
meat and muscle; 
spilling guts, scabbing brown –
a trophonian wilderness, 
heated terror on misshapen iron…
down down dicks in the dirt 
shooting fish ‘till it hurts 
Hero’s flag 
draped across a body bag 
a ten gun salute 
a valley of tears 
and a white gloved handshake 
is all that remains.


Saira Viola

Illustration: Elena Caldera


Look at the stars under old glory skies 
They belong to me, they belong to you, Christian Muslim, Hindu, Jew 
Buddhist and Zen, all races of men, all creeds, all beliefs 
A constellation of love,
maps the chart to your heart, 
spang – bang the night 
with poetic dust 
and the breath of the dead 
False gods hang on racks in Wal-Mart and Costco ,
Bikini dreams – 56 inches on a plasma screen 
They make war with cupid,
And use gun powder sex 
In church motels 
To destroy your sun kissed copulation 
That thrill, that high 
When you buy 
When you buy 
Can you hear little Chiquita cry?
It’s bullets and jello 
Boxed up insanity 
And multi-vitamins 
Your life –
Scripted on a paper towel 
The trees are screaming 
The oceans are bleeding 
Police attack water protestors 
State suppressors – 
Call up the freedom lovers 
Through the cracks I see 
Blood purple flowers 
Beware the shifty gov’t eye 
Knows what you eat 
And where you sleep 
The keys to the kingdom 
Handed to the great white shark 
Old shuffle butt war sloths 
Need fresh young blood 
To pimp the pentagon 
Find a deal 
on e bay you can 
Sell your virginity, rock candy 
or a lock of Elvis’s hair,
William Shatner’s kidney stone 
And a cornflake shaped like Illinois 
It’s a star spangled orgy 
of ultra brite greed where 
gold rush bling bling 
Meets food stamp democracy.


Saira Viola
Illustration: Joey Feldman



These are the days of shift and shape 
Where facts are obfuscated by fiction 
Where popularity prides itself over principles 
And a world of knowledge gives way to a 
World of wealth and stupidity

These are the days of deception 
Where suited hucksters, 
with sun sprayed smiles 
trade tall stories and cook up crimes

These are the days of deflection 
Where internet stars and celebrities 
dictate the news agenda for weeks and weeks 
Where tabloid tales and leaked sex tapes 
Can make you the President of the USA!

These are the days of ignorance 
Big smiles for nabbing a smart phone, 
A pat on the back for acquiring new hi-tops, 
or a luxury time piece, 
clocking wasted minutes 
at sonic speed 
These are the days of food banks 
And meth addicted grandmas 
Steel hanger abortions 
And click and hit money scams 
These are the days of the debt slave 
Where you buy buy buy shopping for nothing 
‘till the day you die,
Where everything’s out of reach 
A dead end- a stop sign – a one way street.


Saira Viola

Photo Courtesy of Claire Lewis


Backstabbers, turncoats, double dealers, Judas, 
Snaky stool pigeons 
Remove your masks 
And dance! Dance like the devil! 
The families of the dead will raise their heads! 
In the Mississippi heat a wife beating pansy and neo Nazi disciple of 
the Fourth Reich flower toxic KKK HATE 
Send in the back slappin’ finger tappin’ ENTERTAINERS 
Will it be titti leaks or wiki leaks 
Who wins?
TV eyes on you 
And a Glock 9 
Aimed at the stars and stripes 
When she reveals her left breast to camera 
Flashes that showbiz grin
And waves Uncle Sam’s flag 
You know you’ll be hypnotized 
Don’t worry there’s 56 channels to help you decide 
Pop star sloganeering electrifies 
Sing a long never – stop be satisfied 
And a giant sized pink bunny will tell you 
“Pitch your universe with Captain Underpants!” 
And dance! America dance!


Saira Viola
Illustration: Elena Caldera



From Don’t Shoot The Messenger  by Saira Viola. All art work reproduced with  permission from UB books


Honky Tonk Zappa

Fishnet stockings and thigh cut skin tight leotards
Not for Sunday ballet but leggy lip synched cabaret,
Carbon copy hotties strut and jiggle butt the stage
As Japanese tourists stand bemused and politely wave
An acid kangaroo and talking parrot box the night away

Cocktails on hand he twiddles the red knob
Jam packed non stop floor to ceiling rock
Plush smut smirks and six pack laughs
From slime a dime celebs and grazing porn giraffes

It’s the best thing in the world
There’s three cock wallets to every blow back girl
Cyber programmed lighting for Casanovas on speed
Electric kisses super charged by erotic slot machines
The hurdy gurdy circus parade plays all night long
As tuxedoed hair toupees troll the money song
Shangri la fever burn out guaranteed
Exit left stage right zap the guillotine!


Saira Viola


artwork courtesy of UB
Underground books


Unitas Quick


Everybody’s Son
[Viola/ Quick] Song Lyrics- Poem ©2012

Trayvon slaughtered by
the bloody bullet of hate
clouded racist mind
seals his dying fate
Can’t live in a country where
you get shot down for Skittles & iced tea
Trayvon was cut down
by the blades of bigotry

Trayvon is everybody’s son
gunned down no chance to run
Trayvon is everybody’s son
Trayvon is everyone of us

Stalked him, was calculated
hunted down like prey
the color of his skin
marked him for his grave
Full of dreams he was just 17
You know what I mean
Face down in a hard rain
in the land of liberty


Silenced by a single shot
scars the mid-night sky
can you imagine the pain
in a mother’s lonely cry
Complex as it seems
in the end an unarmed teen
has been taken away
Should bring shame
these issues are systemic & ingrained



Song based on a poem by Saira Viola Lyrics Viola/Quick ©2012
Unitas Quick is a recording artist birthed in Baltimore
Saira Viola : Fiction ball buster, poet , song lyricist and creator of sonic scatterscript

harum scarum


Words mean nothing 
unless they are bile from your belly 
or broken teeth 
or poison apples from forbidden trees 
What use are words if they don’t 
fly or kill or breathe?
What use are they if they don’t shiver 
or gasp when you take a 
bullet to the heart?
We need words that will splinter your dreams 
twist the knife in Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee orrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeee ahhhhhhh!
Now – Release 
Words that pummel you bloody to the ground 
that punch that loan shark lender in the mouth 
Words that spit on branded consumption 
and undress the whores of mass corruption –
that flower a reaction –
We want words that wrestle alligator fascists in the street 
Words that will kink up the party – pin Hedge fund Harry to the wall, 
milk the nipple of stinking cheats 
and never hide what you feel 
Words that you can see, unchained a slab of basalt,
naked for eternity 
Words that spark flames again and again 
that aren’t ‘endorsed,’ by weasel money men 
Words that vomit on alpha pup shoes 
that will build something vital 
fresh – new 
Words that heal the winds in Palestine 
and bring justice to the bastards of apartheid 
Words that will lift the kilt – blow the bagpipe –
Words that will rip the old order apart 
and dazzle the skies like Sputnik babies 
Words that kneel between the thighs of lady justice 
and penetrate the womb of equal rights 
Words that shield morality and crack the rusted fists of bigots 
Words that shine a light on toxic oil spills –
chase the dragon – conjure thrills 
Words that bite the tongue of slick talking salesman 
Words that spank you black and blue 
Words that remember me and you 
Words you find in the backseat of a lover’s car 
that wing you to Mars, skating on moon dust 
and magic stars 
Words that fight in ink berets 
that linger longer than a second, and never fade.


Saira Viola
Pic. Elena Caldera



Her day was punched with silence 
and shredded with hand me down promises,
only ten summers young and already her dreams 
are splintered with hate,
through the filmy curtain of her left eye,
there is a coral ring of sadness,
it weeps across the school room desk 
and scoops her into the arms of misery 
She ate cooked rat on Sunday,
her mamma told her it would be okay 
but the scabby hump of her intestines 
had already made her puke three times,
yellow chunks of phlegm 
glutting her tender craw 
In the canteen, she copied Bernadette and 
jammed 18 free ketchup sachets into her pocket,
She would mix it all up later,
they called it hill billy consommé, 
it left a sweetened trail of squalor 
in her maiden mouth 
Home was a burnt out Lincoln, 
she was meant to be in heaven with her Barbie doll, Casey J,
just another ghetto abortion statistic,
bloodying the sidewalk,
but her mamma changed her mind 
Mr Weezer, let them use his trailer in exchange 
for favours 
and creepy dress up games,
he had a golf ball size cyst on his cheek,
she wanted to jab, 
his breath smelt stale 
like warm beer pooled with 
cigarette butts, and lard-
his lips were greased with evil 
She would sit alone at recess rocking 
herself to sleep,
the chairs were comfy 
and the sun-filtered blinds 
warmed her cold fingers,
she avoided the fish bowl stares, 
other kids hurled her way,
and retreated to her 
make believe castle, 
decked with pink balloons,
and Minnie Mouse dresses 
spotted with candy balls 
of glitter 
Her one friend, Ellen got taken away,
‘child services,’ they said 
Ellen was capped with bruises on her twiggy arms,
above her eyes,
and on her back 
they left wheels of blue, purple and whitish green,
on her fragile skin, like climbing snap dragon,
she missed Ellen’s goofy laugh 
and the way she drew violet unicorns 
with indigo eyes 
As winter came and the trees shimmered in pearly soft silks 
and the leaves sang on the breeze 
she dreamt of a real Thanksgiving dinner 
not pop top beeferoni 
but a sit down meal with soda 
and even a Christmas Tree,
on Fridays, she got her weekend 
snack pack from school,
but that didn’t stop her 
festering need for normality,
she is the canker sore of 
fetid greed 
a shameful statement on the landscape of 
red, blue and white 
the banner hatred of the poor.
Is that the triumphant call 
of those stars and stripes 
that blister the lonely Vegas night?


Saira Viola
Illustration: Elena Caldera


She wears a battered leather jacket,
candy pink baby doll slip 
and sky rocket stilettos with 
soft silk ribbons,
listens to Siouxise Sioux,
on a rewind loop –
she can’t get 
no satisfaction,
eyes like rainy Sunday 
with flutter satin lashes 
bedroom lips on red alert –
bell pepper hot-suck hard and flirt,
she walked into the grunge pen 
like his favourite song,
marble-moon skin, gleaming,
under neon kitsch, green lighting,
a trading post of astral princesses 
beatnik lizards and roller rock 
boys , acid accordions java-ing noise,
with his psychedelic tulip shirt and black velvet flares ,
afro cuban heels, and crocodile stare,
manscaped goatee, 
and feather violet hair 
he was ready wanting, desperate to ensnare –
on the smoke blackened wall 
his anti hipster scrawl 
pimp limp, and sneaker grin 
he slides in tongue on tongue 
tripping their kiss with cherry pop sun.


Saira Viola
Illustration: Elena Caldera

Trigger Mouth Blues

illustration: Elena Caldera


Talk faster baby

in the same key – pitch it right ,

for the audience tonight

sales speak comes easy –

to the red white and blue –

make them believe in

the American Dream

give them a slow word suck

on the land of the free ,

did your daddy play golf

with the President today ?

How many fix it men -in court- on Monday?

The anti God is hustling the streets

pedalling race hate and poverty ,

the monkey’s outta the cage

pulling the strings on the stage

changing the rules of the game –

dumb and dumber ,

the BADGE of pride –

headline news

expose celebrity feuds

slang -bang -jam the front page,

with toilet – drama and scripted rage

desperate to snatch a second of fame .

Truth is buried behind a wall of sleaze

billion dollar blinders protecting their greed

death bought and sold -a global design

democracy kisses bum steer the line

as millions of ‘martyrs’ are sacrificed,

and the privileged tower of white

corporate power continues to reign ,

Let it play ! Let it play ! Let it play !


Saira Viola

war lullaby


On your knees now ! How much can you give ?

What you got left ? Let your mouth touch the ground

that’s it closer, until the sand, papers your lips

                                                         with grit

                      and stings the white of your eyes



Your body sags with GRIEF, she clamps you to her chest

can you hear the sound of tanks ?

smell the stench of human sweat ?

and feel the dry desert heat ?

Louder ! Louder! There’s foot soldiers on the march

and the hurrr of the Humvee

so close, elephant wheels treading tik -tik flies and

                                                            roasted lice

that stick to the tyres, a crusted blood ballet of

wing tips, antennae and thorax


Thumpety Thump bump bump

pressure builds

your jaw locks -body shock 

spasms like wasps on jelly,

a flea crawls in your inner ear

biting, sniping a morass of fear

head crack -snap back

your voice entombed in saffron sands.


Saira Viola
Illustration: Elena Caldera



The lines on his face were etched with rum
his eyes drooped down
they were battered folds of red
veined with the purple fist of poverty
He  had a 24 hour, vacant look about it him – it said he was open to all offers
scavenging troweling for that one golden thread of hope that would save him
from the abattoir of gloom
Sometimes he still strummed the notes on his shotgun  guitar
his fingers like bloodied bananas fried in ghee
he was a shadow in his own land
an exile of no worth
his army fatigues were clubbed with GLORY
but his smile was cut with cremated dreams.

Saira Viola

Vulture of war how you scream  -scream with the blood of babes on your sharp hooked beak!
As you wrap your mighty black pinions  around their innocent tongues and squeeze squeeze !
Your song of death scorches the land with salty ash
And the blush of boys  come  to you armed and brave
Ready for morning glory!
Gas bombs drop ! And a wonder of stars fall to the ground
Eyes cobwebbed - blistered - burning
Gargling names of loved ones on sickened  breath
Annelid  worms banquet  on day old flesh
Red  -wheezing mud  smothers two severed heads
And a charm of  Finches  will sing when the battle’s over
And the pall bearers salute  a pity of  weeping mothers

It's a moonless sky 
but you can still feel 
the wind slow jive 
as the leaves on the trees 
twerk left and right,
while the night pipes, 
a lonely dirge to blood tingling stars 
walking through penniless streets 
pock marked with 
partially naked 
noodle pots, 
and condom wrappers 
this morning's papers 
and dozens of lost lottery tickets 
that stick to the paving stones 
you swallow regret 
and stand alone 
in the bowels of a living grave
7//11 is empty 
you're tapping for 
a cigarette
a call for help - 
witching hour sos 
you need to speak to someone, 
anyone, but that 
stray cat 
yowling for scraps 
"Hello," your voice 
rattles in between 
shelves of Twinkies 
and lo cal cookie dough 
the original twilightshow
a chalky faced man appears 
dusted with orange fuzz
and rejection lines 
pastes on a strictly 9-5, work clerk smile

Slurping on oysters
Rat King grinned
‘The best time to invest – when there’s blood flowing in the streets.’
His face lit like up like a Roman candle
His heart tasted like cherry flava kerosene
Money spawn fisting the kitties
Jim slim tight wads
Bruising the night
With mechanical jizz
Get up offa the couch
And spunk your soul
With the seed of sedition
Or let your tears fold away the dawn
With fuck me now resignation.

Washington bullets pulp her pussy
And Western eyes rape her sovereignty
Her bloody tongue
Silenced by Drones
She is a token of Waspy pride
A skinless statistic of government lies
And with the sweetness of the night
Under silver star washed skies
Bone and flesh tinder the fire.

The reptilian fingers of greed
Outstretched in doorways , alleyways and side streets 
On urine tarred walls 
They line up pedalling flesh 
And egos made of PVC
Rose pink , fake bake and cherry noir
Pop the night with snatch and grab thighs 
A tea coloured wheeze rests on her knee 
And ferret eyes feed her lies 
The plateau between moda acrylic and shiny mink