Standing Stones by Simon Kewin

Not the wind to worry the stones
Nor the passing shadows of crows
Casting brief cave-paintings there
Not the gazes of women and men
Nor, then,
The gazes of their great, great, great, great grandchildren
Only the years
Flake away by layers of dust
Peel back the skin, in search of the meaning
But the obelisks, obdurate
Remain silent, disdainful
Keeping their long purposes to themselves


Simon Kewin, UK

Rise and Fall by Martin Hodges

Grey, distorts the black
rise of mizzled crows.
Echoes, feathering in retreat.
Rebels with their caws.
Perched in the clinging damp
of a blind day.
Steeped in silence.

Do not disturb.
Their honeyed notes
are long lost to the fields.
Sunk in sullen soil, locked in flint.
Rasping remnants tear the surging
winter skies and pinch the heart.
Chaos, cast in black,
and robbed of a sweet song.


Martin Hodges, UK

Red's the colour by Gabrielle Bryden

red proved the toughest contender
in the fiery battle between black and colour

he was a radical mover and shaker
a hot-blooded fighter

who waved the scarlet standard tall
for black to see and force to fall

he led all colours deep into the heated battle
memories of the long dark days

ignited their passions

which raged and flared
creating their own light

they reveled in the spilling of crimson blood
and black recoiled in horror

red rolled out the carpet for his friends
when the battle was won

power to the petite

colours
tints
of every shade
advancing into the open

a revolutionary freedom
cause for celebration

let’s paint the town.


Gabrielle Bryden, Australia

Still-Life Ballad for a Crow by Jay Coral

Curiousity
on a barbed wire
your steady eyes
eulogic
i pity
not putting you
next to a rose
on a snowy day
your black sheen
rejoicing in Titian red.


Immaculate white
the crow wonders
why winter
is a delicate harvest
the guts
not as black
as the heart
the reekness
of no reds
dumbfounds


Jay Coral, Los Angeles, USA

illuminations of a cat by Regina Green

strike out boldly
learn from the collective
beware of hand-held treats
always appear negotiable then
walk away with tail held high
mice and high heels are fair game
scratching behind the ears can be
used against you
you can take the loner persona a bit too far
the best part of the day is reserved for
sleeping it away
you can say i'm yours and i won't disagree but
i'll keep you up at night wondering where i am
i am beautiful but you know that
it's harder than it looks


Regina Green, USA

Feathery Language by Cathy Cullis

Icicles like never before.
I could get used to breathing like this,
a feathery language.

It is now fine to wrap yourself and go,
anywhere, upstairs, to the stars.
The moon has a new dead ring.

A cat enters with a frosted beard,
enters your dreaming, refuses blank stares.
Stairs, stars and stares. This is your winter.

Liking its efforts, snow won’t stick.
Later is no longer in the dictionary of snow,
this blue makes present even recent mistakes.

The secret is a little egg white, the taste of kelp.
This is how even stars spread themselves thinly.
You wear your coat inside.





Cathy Cullis, England

The Wave by Joanna Ezekiel

Climate Change March, December 2009

for a while
the skies as blue
as our fingernails

and hats
below the placards,
scarves, banners

an undertow of
 anger
fuels us
we walk further
than expected – penance

for your new gloves,
my bottle of water
at Parliament

we hear cheering
fall back
like birdsong

strange in December
upon Westminster Bridge
our blue concern

waves .......at high tide
 
 
Joanna Ezekiel, UK