Maggs Vibo

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the poet

Maggs Vibo – pen name of veteran, military spouse and visual poet Margaret Viboolsittiseri – is the author of ash poetry booklet Ashes to Ashes. She’s contributed to anthologies from Poem Atlas, Penteract Press, Steel Incisors, IceFloe Press, Coven Poetry, Fevers of the Mind, AngelHousePress and Oxford Brookes University Poetry Centre. Published widely in the US, UK, Canada, Europe and South Asia, Maggs showed pieces in 2022 with L'Air Arts in Atelier 11 of Cité Falguière in Paris, and at The Library of Congress in Washington DC.

the poems

The Year of the Ox

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                 Try not to box
                 or blow
                 up
                 Chuck
                 Dem-ah     CRAZEEEEE
                 SAW
                 Free
                 DUMB
                 Oh Fragil-egos and the Gods …
                 k-NO-w science
                 criminal enterprises drilling-in-digenous
                 wears a Cape Fear
                 full of shit
                 bags of waste
                 lands of carn   age
                 everything harnesses
                 the power of the sun, winds, dust,
                 rainmaker of all
                 powerful
                 Holy
                 rolling
                 phony
                 and traitorous
                 bologna
                 sand
                 Which way did they go?
                 Storm In red and
                 CAP-IT-ALL
                 Off
                 fences didn’t stop and neither could a
                 WALL
                 STREET of protestors
                 (zip) ties
                 mouth
                 Shut the F. up
                 You’re dis – loyal
                 and royally F.U.C.KKKed
                 up! Up! UP and A-way
                 Through this maze of trickery

The Year of the Rat

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                  I don't find inspiration
                  In a rat. Not that

                  Creature

                  scurrying along the floorboards

                  looking forward to theft

                  I'm bereft

                  when looking at that tail,

                  that long gruesome nose sniffing

                  whiffing for the smell of death. Of plague.
                  of Misfortune

                  The Year of the Rat. Fat

                  politicians told us that we’d be free of this virus
                  when in fact or fiction (no contradiction)

                  In our rat. He is the disease

                  we wheeze and cough in his direction

                  wherever he might go just know

                  we wish he'd fall into the trap

                  he laid for himself when he called all this a hoax

                  just smoke and mirrors
                  reflecting back a rat

                  we loathe

                  The rat serves no purpose and has no
                  Make it Great claim to life
                  Except through death,
                  trenches
                  and holes,
                  Sewerbellies

                  Of our globe. (Hold)

                  The rat in a maze. It phases us

                  How intelligent and how much they’re like us

                  We hate the rat because:
                  We Are the Rat

                  And this is the year (we must endear)
                  This creature who will represent

                  All our selfish desires

                  With ire we must take back (our rat) and

                  Pet

                  This debt … we make for generations

                  In the future

                  A suture to hold this geyser of blood

                  We must mop to the corner and all over our
                  Persistence and petulance

                  Henceforth,

                  This, POOOOR creature

                  Is the Year of the Rat

The Year of the Tiger

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                  Lady
                  Liberty

                  Lingering threats

                  January

                  6th
                  Sense of

                  Skipping rope

                  With the reins of a

                  Trojan horse

                  Riding into the eye

                  Yet do not see

                  Your stripes

                  A billion dollar

                  Arsenal of logos,

                  T-shirts, and
                  Assaults

                  A cache
                  Of cash

                  Yet, still you play the fiddle

                  Down in Georgia

                  Peaches

                  Bragging and breaking skin

                  Smash-n-grab’em
                  By their special props

                  In a Lone Star

                  States
                  Of oppression

                  Against a mouse
                  You taunt

                  A community of trained

                  Cops and Thieves who
                  Claim supremacy

                  You'll see
                  We The People

                  I am

                  AMERICAN

                  My hand raised to defend

                  The Constitution

                  You burned

                  We The People

                  We Are Cursed

                  We Are Broken

                  Our kindergardens

                  Soaked in

                  Coffins draped

                  No playground

                  Fallen grace

                  Untenable and broken

                  Lulla-byes

                  Purring kittens

                  Eyes too young to see

                  Such tragedies

                  Hiding

                  Cowering

                  Yet calling

                  Out-stretched tails

                  Sharpening nails

                  Scratching
                  A Cross

                  And clawing

                  Back

                  We are Tigers

                  Angry feoh-lions

                  Roaring

                  No longer silent

                  Soaring

                  Manticores

Publishing credits

The Year of the Ox: Visual Poetry (Fevers of the Mind)

The Year of the Rat: Distanced 3.0 (ang(st)) / The Book of Penteract

  (Penteract Press)
The Year of the Tiger: exclusive first publication by iamb