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Lament for Lammas Day I will not decorate the altar with flowers and fruit For how can I celebrate a harvest when the seeds sown in the hearts of vengeful tyrants yield only famine and war? For what do we reap in this season? We reap the bones of children. The wind that blows through the barley carries the weakened cries of a starving nation and the last stolen breaths of thousands. The rain that falls on the ripened corn stings salt with the tears of the mothers and fathers who hold the remains of their mown-down children in their disbelieving arms. This harvest brings a bounty of blown off limbs fresh from the killing fields Each fruit is tainted with the blood of the innocent I will carry no celebratory sheaves home from the meadow Let there be no harvest supper with plates laden with food. I will lay the table with empty plates, empty glasses and weep for the cruelty of men. And I will pray that with the pulling of the plough and the turning of the land, a new season of peace may take hold and grow. THEME: Genocidal Starvation  Kate Gold is a painter and poet living on the edge of Dartmoor and has written poetry since a child. After she studied poetry as part of a creative arts degree, she took her writing more seriously, honing and developing her writing skills. She went on to achieve an M.A in creative writing (poetry) In the past Kate worked as an art, poetry and creative writing tutor in HMP Bristol and ran writing workshops in community settings. Much of her poetry is inspired by her love of the wild beauty of the natural environment and her experience of caring for the dying. Her first poetry pamphlet was published in 2022 by Jawbone Press in Dorset.
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Bite my Heart I am hungry, Wandering in the street, No crumbs, no scent, no scrap Of food to eat. I walk Beside a million, yet I’m none-- A shadow moving silent in the sun. I dream of bread, Of warmth beneath my hand, But wake to dust, to ash, to ruined land. No place to bloom, no roots, No patch of grace—just cold air Pressing hard against my face. Like flour spilled, Like petals turned to stone, I fed no soul and starved Within my own. My heart was bitten, But my bread was kind, It never cursed the hunger of mankind. Bite my heart but never my bread, Though hollow, I’m still living, not dead. The plate is bare. My voice begins to fade, More fleeting than a soul Upon a blade. So bite my heart And let it break, But leave my bread-- It’s all I take. THEME: Famine, Displacement, Survival, Human Resilience BIO: Fadel Kishko is a writer from Gaza. His work explores grief, hunger, and the moral weight of survival. He writes to preserve the dignity of those silenced and to speak through the dust where stories are buried.
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