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Feathers

It’s as if all the birds
In every weather
Had dropped every feather
The weight sometimes
Of all those why's
A ton of lead
Or a ton of words unsaid
Down on a feathered bed
The weight belies
The width of squawks
When the birds are dead
And they sing remembering
When a ton of song
Weighed the same as
Fly away Autumns
Flu away fall
Feather or not
Bird at all.

Stephen Kirin

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Survival

With a chromatic personality Bolder than a bull He strode his way into my life. Tweaked by unexpected darkness Descending into his rhythmic demands He made me feel unannounced. With a sinking feeling And crescendos of shadows I survived to leave by flight. Jill
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A Way of Life

It’s become a way of life this summer, the canvas bag slung over my shoulder hoping not to need it hoping the sky will stay blue long enough to get a walk by the sea. It’s become a way of life this summer, wearing my green jeans, wearing a matching sweatshirt to keep the wind out, wearing green wherever possible to match my green cagoule in case I need it. It’s becoming a way of life, it’s true, this life of uncertainty which nags at the back of your mind and keeps you constantly looking up the weather on your phone. It’s a way of life, this anxiety which sends me scurrying for help when it mushrooms out of control in the middle of the night. Julia
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Breath

All round the world people are holding their breath Is it just an anomaly or are we in at the death? Our planet is hurting that we all can see Is this blip natural or caused by you and me? We have to trust scientists to tell us the truth You are our hope and you are our sleuth Do not ignore the cynics they’ll keep you on track Retest their theories, and find out what they lack Is it a sun spot that may cause the crash Or too much abuse, and things that we trash So tell us home truths, even things that we fear Especially those things we do not want to hear So all of the plastic we do not need to use All of our assets we need not abuse Will help just a little, we hope and we pray Seek a safe path, make some headway Let the whole world return to a safer course Let saving people be a founding force Be sure to travel just the trail that is true Lies come back to bite, like an old lover’s tattoo Let’s hope with every hope we’re not in at the death And slowly, slowly ..... release the world’s...
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Acronyms

PTSD PPE BA 2.75.2 Ratios, numbers, percentages “look after yourself…” they said. We were all Marcel Marceau feeling the invisible walls closing in. I was lucky, I could get out for 30 minutes Music in the car on the way home from the crem., to those invisible walls carrying the grief of the world on my shoulders and forever in my heart. Ratios, numbers, percentages “look after yourself… Suzanne
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Torn Apart

Afterwards it was a long process, two years rolled into ten, of letting go, letting it out. She stumbled through days, drank warmed milk or camomile, paced all night. She worked; walked in the green; bathed in geranium and rose oil hot baths; and only talked to those friends who made her laugh. No sugar, no wine, went vegan, but tears, so much wetness like the churning of rainwater tumbling into a ravine frothing, drowning she fought for breath. She tried counting her blessings. She put on the lost smile, pretended. She made consciously positive statements about herself, about others. No-one knew. She went to happy places, spent time with good people. She allowed the tears, gushing taps, to drench at night kissing her lips with salt, with stinging, with coldness. Sometimes, now, even after all these years words needle her memory, but that is the stitching pulling, snagging. Soon there will only be a scar. No getting over it. Just a mend to staunch the bleeding. Sue Foster
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Always with Us

The morning is cold, The sky is black, An emotion called grief, Is on your back. The storm is ferocious, Emotions peek and trough, The boat is disabled, By our indescribable loss. Gradually the storm, Will begin to ease, Giving breath to talk, Reflect and believe. But just round the corner, With just the breeze, The storm returns, You are on your knees. The sea is unpredictable, The sails carry us along, We begin to feel, Our loved one isn’t gone. With love and care, These storms will pass, The boat’s in order, The sails half mast. It’s a long journey, The boat begins to move with grace, It makes you feel relaxed, And puts a smile on your face, We can recall the memories, With all the love in our heart, They will always be with us, We will never be apart.   by Tonya  
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Drying the Eco Way

Rope across the lawn and a long fork-ended wooden prop too heavy until I was eight. Wooden pegs on a shiny spring never two pronged ‘dollies’ until I was twelve. Then I was delighted by a 24 pack of red, yellow, blue, white and green and, joy of joys pink plastic pegs.  Plastic coated metal line-twine across the balcony on pulleys and reels to be hauled across the Calla Boucheria to the apartment opposite on Mondays, Tuesdays or Saturdays. They could haul theirs across to my hook on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Neither of us ever could or did, on Sundays. The wooden horse in a Muswell Hill bedsit dank, mouldy drying space for a single young professional trying to pay her rent. Wouldn’t use the in-situ white-goods dryer concern for the environment a principle. Too many work blouses and not enough space or money to be clean or crisp. Danish designed the eco dryer fits into a corner easily. It takes heat and drying time from a radiator. Hanging all your clothes a whole wardrobe...
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Insect Playground

Hidey holes and pockets of flowers Silhouetted with a lonely crow, watchful of artists. A jumble sale of geology, thoughts, and passers by; A granulated sugar platform Of sandy grains and apple pie. Abbey Tales Group  Poem
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Stones of Old

Tell me your song oh stones of old of the summers that warmed you and the strike of the cold the voices of song absorbed in your heart the anger and fear that tore you apart. Speak to me of church bells and whispered dreams the rough hands that gathered your broken seams the waterways that carried your bones of lime the soft crunch of bread and red rivers of wine. Who did you cradle in your shadowed arch as the songbirds heralded the soldiers march as battles raged in the skies ahead and you sheltered your spiders in a stony bed? Is the wear on your shoulders the marks of the wild or the scrape of a heel from a venturing child? Discarded windows frame the dance of time Oh tell me your stories great stalwarts of lime.     Emmalene  
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Abseiling Platform

A disorganisation of bumpy, stained stones, Sandy olives beneath Mossy pockets of flowers And ruptured mortar. A sun drenched lime backing Crumbling ruins, Abseiling platform Hosting a multitude Of alien life forms. Charlotte
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