(a sonnet)

be not broken instead screw changes to walls
undo the chains loose the anchors be a bird
free from the dynamics taught by classroom bores
let only the wind and songs of fidelity be heard

we have but one blue planet and in many.hearts
this place an onion skin of earth is our home
praise the dirty hands cupped around spice
they are in drug shackles to the poisoned ground

in glassy eyes and honest beggary they need
one healthy world celebrate their passion
their suffering is the first crack you’ll ever heed
the spice don’t it make their eyes blue. I am

seeing a blue world besides a blurred word
in between is one mind and survival obscured

Robin Rich

Good Sunday Turn

My imagination is going to get me
into a lot of trouble.
Sometimes, on a Sunday
when I buy the newspaper
and a pastry,
I imagine the joy of
sharing it with you.
Or when I cook a fancy meal.
We’d go upstairs to watch
a movie
but not before
we take in the laundry
to save it
from the damp.

Zahra Khan

to be a boss

people speak of him in a great fashion
at least, thats what he tells us
even when they see how he’s speaking to us

as soon as their notions of fashion are gone
he’s speaking for them
a great man calls himself a great man
but we’re losing the heart to agree

springs to mind
a man in a riddle, a man so great that he can’t possibly
be any good

Willow Orton


Back along bygone lanes
She crept
Oozing with gin

In that familiar warmth
She slept
Touching his skin

Wondering what it was that
She kept –
A longing
Folded within?

But full with the hum of Spring
She leapt
Her blooming
The fragrance of him

Lily Stella

The discovery

Today they found the ship
Herodotus had described
two thousand years ago
lying still like a secret
under dark waters
silently shoring up his words
with its hard timber ribs
mooring itself, at last
in sight of consciousness.
Will I too be found
in some unthinkable future
will the measurement tape
circle my temples, confirm
that I existed, that I loved
and was loved, that I gave
and was given to –
or will I appear under
clumsy, careless fingers
that have no knowledge
of who they touch

Ben Ray