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Body Bags for Bookmarks, by Juan Sicat

31/7/2020

Flow your blood, the strongman says,
As he washes his hands
Clean of any guilt.
Daring, only, for he holds the hilt.

The crows stand damning across the moor,
Where the bones glower at the rich
And smile at the poor.
To the wall, a man denied of sight

Sheathes his tongue—thankful
And without mourning
For the by-blows of gunshots and bloodlust.
Close your mouths, the strongman says,

As he suckles the ground, breastful, with the sweat
Of the toils of truth-making and of the unflinching face
Drawn, unbridled, over thumb-sized threats.
Flow your blood, the strongman says,

As he leaves his marks page-by-page.
Today's an empty stomach, a wrinkled brain;
And it shall hunger for the turning of the leaves--
The body bags speak of the ways to begin.

Little, by Ana Marie Dollano

31/7/2020

Tiny drops of water make a stream,
every single drop fizzles
an empty cup.

I am but a speck of dust
in this vast, loud world,
with a voice crisp enough to be heard.

Pandemic Love, by Adrian McRobb

31/7/2020

I see her less and less these days
moving away through white muslin
losing her, day by lonely day
her careless laugh, a blown kiss
further and further away
in folds of a waking dream

He tried to warn me, Newman
told me of wet face kisses
that wrench of sudden parting
May and September months apart
especially, it would seem
by frogs migratory ponds

Tiring easily of stolen moments
leaving a trail of bread crumbs
looking for that elusive something
that doesn't exist, books lie about love
always missing the sum total
he said it would hurt... he was right!

Ode to Chocolate, by Janice Siderius

31/7/2020

What is that siren’s call I hear,
Coming through so loud and clear?
From the cupboard and the fridge
A vision I cannot abridge.

All the various ways ‘tis sold
In ice cream or in candied mold.
Numerous cakes and pies galore
All of which I do adore.

Some by Godiva, some by Nestle,
Even Teuscher is heaven to me.
Sometimes it is paired with caramel
Other times with nuts, incomparable!

Some would claim I am addicted
And my consumption should be restricted.
But I say that this magnificent bean
Will always be a part of my cuisine.

The Auction House, by Graham Brussen

24/7/2020

Inside the Auction House where Art
is measured up and sold,
the true purpose of it is found
in small amounts of gold.

The place the rich compete to steal
the heritage of Rome,
exhibiting their taste for friends
who roll their eyes and groan.

And all the starving artists dream,
from shoebox apartments,
of fame inside the Auction House,
to cloak their scrappy garments.

Perhaps, one day they’ll find waiting
a little gilded note.
Invited to the grand charade
to earn a simple banknote.

Questions in 'G', by Adrian McRobb

24/7/2020

Mouths open, a circle of darkness
where the stones of hatred live
tears course as easily as rain
when lips move in anger

Heels clip-clop noisily away
hips sway in haughty rebuttal
body language of rejection
lives severed by hasty surgery

later in lonely rooms
they lick different wounds
cursing God...blaming the other
when really, it was just words

Taxis have a lot to answer for
an evenings autopsy
on a too long idle journey
simmers many broken pots...

Terminal, by Gary Mark Belenke

24/7/2020

Life is finite

Terminal

I don’t know

How or when

Will there be

a beckoning ivory shadow

or will my light

flicker and disappear

Eternal peace

or nothingness

I hope

Pray

Dream

Fight

Cry

Acquiesce

In the end

The end

I Wish I Were a Retiree, by Mary Wallace

17/7/2020

To the tune of Sandi Thom's "I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair."

I wish I were a retiree without a single care,
I’d move around the countryside or go OS somewhere
I wouldn’t rush I’d take my time there’s so much world to see
Oh I wish I were a retiree enjoying being free.

I wish I were a retiree not just a working wife
I’d cut my hair and buy a car and get on with my life
I’d leave each winter chase the sun, I never would be cold
Oh I wish I were a retiree enjoying growing old

I wish I were a retiree I wouldn’t work too hard
I’d write and read and maybe paint and watch him in the yard
We’d breakfast late and watch the birds, we’d lunch under our tree
Oh I wish I were a retiree enjoying being me.

The Path, by Adrian McRobb

17/7/2020

The path is an elusive thing, you don't chose it
many seek it, but few find it, they think it promises power
Newman warned in his book 'it will burn your soul'
the path is divergent, it chose me long ago
walking towards it without even knowing
now I'm it's creature, shunning the light
more comfortable in shadow
born into melancholia I was the perfect candidate
spelling before I knew how, which is a dangerous thing
the path gave me a nudge to firmly bind me to it's arcanity
write your own world and you will have power beyond measure...

The Scream, by Adrian McRobb

10/7/2020

A face drawn with scattered dirt
in a cold winter long ago
smiling was forbidden
in the place where smiling stood
grins and pretty faces, fruit posing
Pan, nymphs and gamboling lambs
all the world in oil, and framed
hiding in the dark...with salt

many lighter squares on walls
stolen with the people
to places far away
wheelchairs tipped
from balcony height
broken faces on cobbles
where no-one cared
only a face, drawn
with scattered dirt...

Moments, by Guy Fletcher

3/7/2020

These are moments, surreal,
all things in stasis.
She envies a couple arguing
and the trauma will never heal.
Mortality has been broken apart
like a fallen fluorescent tube,
his eyes betraying sadness and fear
with a furious drumbeat in her heart.

Suffering had barely infected her life,
the cosy world of restaurants,
art galleries and midnight bars
has been severed by fate's knife.
Now the world is back at its usual pace
quite indifferent to their plight,
shock has protected her so far
but then a tear...rolls down her face.

Panic Attack! by Adrian McRobb

3/7/2020

I've beaten the sale target
at my local supermarket
I have more toilet tissue
in case I have an issue
while I'm virtually waiting
and not incubating
it is most desirous
that I beat this virus
I went panic shopping
committed over stocking
a bath full of eels
for emergency meals
hoarded medication
to ward off inflation
I've got so much pasta
in case of disaster
bought enough beans
to fill several tureens
I haven't forgotten
over buying is rotten
robs those in need
because of my greed
I guess I'm going to hell
where I'm panic buying as well

Poetry

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