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
Wednesday 29 December 2010
Thursday 23 December 2010
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
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
Sunday 19 December 2010
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
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
Tuesday 14 December 2010
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
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
Wednesday 8 December 2010
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
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
Sunday 5 December 2010
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
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
Wednesday 1 December 2010
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
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
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