Blog Archives

Your Song, by Philip Galfano

29/6/2019

If you sent me from faraway shores of an ancient sea
floating over wandering waves
a song that whispered verses of love
my life would suddenly erupt into deep emotions
that tenderly healed my weary body
and consoled my grieving heart.
Day of scattered clouds quickly passing through
reflecting over my face drenched with tears not wanted.
I search for you from distance
and anxiously I await for your song.

“Is Paris Burning?” by Sankar Chatterjee

29/6/2019

It was the climax in a Hollywood movie
Nazis arrived days before
Third Reich now thundering over the phone
“Is Paris burning?”

Brave Allies fought gallantly
The Nazi war-room lain in ruins
But the phone kept screaming
“Is Paris burning?”

Allies now fragmented and clueless
Lack of global action with no leadership
Citizens allowing climate change
Paris is now burning.

Third Reich smiled turning into his grave
Paris is finally burning.

When the Music Ends, by Guy Fletcher

27/6/2019

I keep the silver music box pristine,
it shines, a dancing lady on the lid.
It was a gift from my lover
many years ago, I open it
and the alluring music of Swan Lake plays.
She returns to me for a short while,
I caress her gold hair and watch her smile

but disappears like a spirit
when the music stops, then I
stare at the moon and the flickering stars,
they are quite indifferent to my woes.
I am a masochist so play it again
but when this beautiful stirring tune ends
a tear rolls down...as loneliness descends.

Children of God, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/6/2019

You’re drifting in strong current of the Rio Grande
Was your father carrying you on back?
Or happened to be nearby, to wrap him
Where was your Mommy, Valeria?
Oh dear, at least your Daddy was nearby.

Years back, Aylan, in a dingy full of migrants
Drowned in the Mediterranean
Washed ashore the beaches in Italy, all alone
He was a Syrian, you’re a Guatemalan
But what difference that made for the humanity?

Children of god
You made to the shores of mighty west
Though lifeless.
But Trump, Boris, Orban, and Bolsonaro
Didn’t invite you to be here.

Loneliness, by Philip Galfano

26/6/2019

Loneliness of the heart and soul
haunted by memories
that slowly and absurdly
reveal empty predictions.
My life is my torment
a choir of skeletons without poise.
I am not a god and I don’t have strength
to evade my pain.
Ancient mortal vanity
dragged by the wind crossing the earth
and fading away into nothingness.
We are born to suffer the sins
of what time has to offer.

Broken Pieces of a Lost Echo, by Philip Galfano

25/6/2019

By what path are you coming to me loneliness?
I don’t know where you are now.
Letting you perhaps live my days which have become
broken pieces of a lost echo?
Was this what I was given to bear?
A frail body barely existing with no will to go on?
And feeling you now approaching pale and silent
I ask myself how long will my painfully worn out soul last,
hoping only that my heart will heal what time pushed inside
and revive my dying lips
while dawn stands on the threshold.

Ode to Night, by Philip Galfano

21/6/2019

You always come down to breathe
over my weakened body
virgin night, and I from a faraway corner
await a dreary recurring of vainly desires
similar to a dream that has become stone.
A breath of wind in the sky
even the moon has risen
and you and only you candid night
can offer me the awaited peace.
But I am my own world
my own loneliness
and not free from my thoughts
I descend inside me and at every space
of my sterile delirium
I hear my heart beat voiceless
to the un existing shadows of my life,
and you are silent
perhaps forever.

A June Day on Cardiff Bridge, by Guy Fletcher

21/6/2019

I pause for a while on Cardiff Bridge
for the weather has been suddenly transformed,
the sun appearing and sky turning
the Taff azure with sparkling silver jewels.
Birdsong blesses the air, swans and mallards
drift through the four arches and this fine scene
brings pleasure to my soul but is unseen

to many of the people who pass me by
on Cardiff Bridge in late June.
A vast army of feet have stepped this way
whose troubles are lost in time
but I shall enjoy these moments:
from all my problems I can briefly hide
under a warm sun...watching the swans glide.

Carousel, by Adrian McRobb

21/6/2019

The horses run in unending circles
some gallop, some canter, going nowhere
like a giant timepiece cogs turn and whirr
each circuit counts down the wheel of life
snorting in yellow paint fetlocks strain
they rise and dive in that stiff necked waltz
at an endless pace with even stiffer tails
rushing into eternity with wicked leering faces
never quite able to catch the one in front
merrily going round the riders shrieking, age
faster now as hell hounds snap at heels
this whirling race, no one wins...everyone loses

Somewhere, by Sandra James

20/6/2019

Somewhere
on the other side of the world
it’s warm
the sun is shining
and skies are blue

but here down under
it’s dark
and frosty cold
the perfect time to sit
by the fire
and write…

Remembering Lydia's Birthday, 20th June, by Bruce Levine

20/6/2019

Today is your birthday
I’ll celebrate it with memories
Of thirty-seven years together
And eternity in Heaven

A Beautiful World, by Philip Galfano

19/6/2019

I envision a beautiful world
a world inhabited by people
whose characters are defined by love
kindness and respect for each other.
One in which all people can live together
in harmony and peace.
I envision a world where people cherish trust
dignity for all and have faith in each other
one where all lives count
no matter of what color,race,gender or nationality,
where guns are replaced by hugs and acceptance
a world we can call our home,
one in which our children are nestled and raised
not by the fear of uncertainty but rather
by the assurance of a safe future.
I envision a world where egoism and hate
are supplanted by goodness and generosity,
a world where a helping hand takes the place
of a shooting one,
one in which laughter and joy are a substitute
for tears and sadness.
This the world for which I hope.

The Hill Farm, by Adrian McRobb

14/6/2019

Harvest toil with that black eye
cooking at the peat hearth
with a livid slap mark
loving but love never returned
only contempt and mental cruelty

She writes her pain into this landscape
forming words out of passing clouds
dreaming of escape but missing him too
each blow hammers another nail
into the coffin of her disconsolate life...

A Tribute to Justin Edinburgh, by Guy Fletcher

14/6/2019

How swiftly triumph turned into disaster:
Justin steered good old Leyton Orient
back into the football league
thrown up high by his team
right to the top of the world.
He played for Spurs for many a year,
so many team-mates would have shed a tear

for he was fit and not even fifty,
the world at his feet, far too young
to be snatched away by the Grim Reaper
and the manager who replaces him
might sense a ghost in the office
but he lived and breathed the beautiful game
and football fans...will remember his name.

Love Again, by Philip Galfano

13/6/2019

When the night lowers its wings
and descends like a bird
over my broken heart,
like a derelict battered by the storm
I search for refuge into your welcoming heart.
My soul like the Phoenix regenerates
and clings to your comforting body
leading us to a safe place.
There we will find love again.

I'm Green, by Phyllis Souza

11/6/2019

I’m green

I’m the green in lush flora
Like a virus, I spread over the earth

I’m the green in lacy ferns, grassy meadows
And the towering pines in the forest

I’m the green in a garland of Spanish moss
Hanging from branches of old oaks

I’m the green in murky water
And the algae growing within

I’m the Green Giant
My picture is on cartons of frozen vegetables

I’m Green!

Sicily, by Philip Galfano

11/6/2019

Sicily: this is my land,
calling me through the voice
of her people,of her music
and of her history.
She pleads for my return
there where I was born
and spent the happiest days
of my childhood.
This is the land of my people,
of my mother and my father,
of my grandparents and great-grandparents.
This is our land.
This is her voice that resounds like an echo
penetrating the hidden paths
of my fragile existence.
I would like to stretch myself
carry my body beyond the shores
of her heart and of her womb
and find myself a child again
along the meadows of my youth.
Sicily: land of joy and of tears ,
of sorrow and of songs,
we live and we die faraway
or nearby.
Finding me again among people I knew
experiences I lived
and seeing myself a child,
reliving the days bygone
the dreams not fulfilled.
This is my land.

Cumulus Clouds Over the City, by Guy Fletcher

10/6/2019

From the summit of the Wenallt I view
cumulus clouds slowly rising,
drifting in from over the Channel.
They are as snow-covered mountains,
thunder groans like a far off bomb.
A rainbow which arcs above the South Wales coast
fades and then disappears as if a ghost

as seagulls shriek warning of storms
with rain which may turn into hail.
The dark clouds peer down on our little boxes
where we consider ourselves important
though as transient as mornng dew
but the huge cumulus clouds which tower
have a glorious, frightening power.

Undertow, by Adrian McRobb

7/6/2019

Your arm curled
with a wave
waving back
wading
your hair
sea-weed washed
skin; of tiny pearls
sharp teeth

You held my hand
and we walked together
into that deeper part
undulating
in that older rhythm
moving with liquidity
serpent coils of foam
sight of land lost

Lungs bursting
in ecstasy

Six Years to Paradise, by Mary Wallace

7/6/2019

Western Myanmar was no place to raise a family, yet the decision to leave was still heart wrenching.

Their dream was Australia, but their new home was a Malaysian detention centre.

Six long years, Australia and her safety proved elusive.

Six years sustained only by a dream, eventually the news of their acceptance came.

Leaving was no burden.

They found paradise in Australia, he found employment, their dream of paradise became a reality.

Five months later, he pulled over to check his load and a truck straddling the service road was unable to stop.

Paradise lost.

Like a Dream, by Philip Galfano

7/6/2019

Like a dream
I looked for you tonight,
I looked for you once again
among wandering shadows
in the night filled with moonlight
softly settling over abandoned paths
inside my heart.
I looked for you in my thoughts
inside yours,
imagining you immersed in peace
and solitude:
but you weren’t there,
just faded memories
of a spring afternoon
seated in a corner of your garden
my heart overflowed with joy.
I saw you look at me
at my face inside yours,
your eyes,like two red sparks,
offered a soft caress
to my trembling body:
I felt alive.
From faraway,a wandering song
drifted through deserted paths
reaching me.
Suddenly I felt your heart beating,
we looked at each other
eyes vibrating with hidden emotions,
I extended my hand into yours
but you like a dream, had already vanished
into the sunlight.

The Car Door, by Mary Wallace

6/6/2019

She stands,
Eyes brimming,
Cheek burning,
Waiting,
for the car door
that signals him gone.

Is it enough,
to make her brave?
That slapped cheek,
or broken bones,
bruised ribs,
black eyes, cut lips.

What will it take?
her hope is gone,
her dreams are shattered,
her body is broken,
her love is rejected,
her heart aches.

What will it take,
to find her courage,
to pack suitcases,
to leave,
to walk out
and start over again?

What will it take,
what last piece of strength
must she find,
what last piece of dignity
must she lose
to be ready to run
when that car door slams?

My Wishes, by Philip Galfano

4/6/2019

I would like to close my eyes
and find myself a child again
along the meadows
by the sunny rubbles
that surrounded my house.
Finding myself there again
immersed in a chaotic emptiness
that peeked through innocently
from beyond the walls slaughtered
by horrors of war,
and yet in that chaotic emptiness
I saw my schoolmates again,
and everything that created in me
the desire to go back there
in that part of my life
that doesn’t exist anymore.

Black Smoke over the Arizona, by Guy Fletcher

3/6/2019

The young sailor dreamt of his lover
deep into a Pearl Harbor Saturday night
and maybe imagined he was still
locked into the land of sleep
as the Japanese planes attacked.
The ship was sunk to the sound of screams,
youthful lads never to achieve their dreams

with the young sailor now sleeping forever.
Black smoke over the Arizona:
more than a thousand perished on this ship alone
lying in the shallow harbour water,
a steel tomb you can hear creak
as if the spirits of the poor doomed crew
the fish indifferent...to the tragic view.

The Feral Woman, by Lola Stansbury-Jones

2/6/2019

The feral woman is an omen
like bug infested fruit.
Spoiling on the inside,
spilling out across the attic floor.

Ravaging lace and flesh,
she impersonates a female.
A martyr of motherhood
they’ll make of her yet.

The wilderness of womanhood
is a utopia for the lamb
pretending she does not see
the slaughterhouse before her.

Ungodly, she stares down car headlights,
about as much use now as roadkill.
Soul rapture;
like pulling trash out of a lake.

The seed of submission
nesting in the belly of a god.
This rampage of tenderness
will make a woman of her yet.

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