Poems included in the January 2018 Exhibition Round.
Steps taken
Wake up - the early morn,
The sound of Robins sing,
Tis 'chorus of the dawn,
Gently now upon the wind.
The sound so sweet,
And heavenly.
Such a way to greet,
A lonesome me.
Their steps taken,
To feed the young,
Just to awaken,
To another song.
Copyright © Jason Walker
Her Gift
Like sweet nectars she sat and cried,
Until God gave the spark, that helped her to fly.
With wings of glory above the clouds so clean,
She flew down amongst the evergreen.
For perpetual life still goes on, as too, a Childs song!
©Copyright Paul Ainslie Carruthers
Bloody Action
The peaceful doves are seen as game,
Slaughtered bloodily as some seek fame.
The Pundits cry their political themes,
Even as they plot their next boondoggle schemes.
Lone gunmen causing terror so clear,
Except to leaders who the NRA they do fear.
Gun owners votes and lobbies are held dear,
Claiming their right to arms that they seek to always bear.
No protections are adequate for innocents,
Cause the leaders display no common sense.
Futures cut short, potentials unrealized,
These victims of Ghouls so demonized.
A nation on the brink of tyranny so foul,
As Congress and Senate seem to sell their soul.
Guns so easy to obtain and spout deadly fire,
The people now must express their great ire.
Time to stand up against the continued insanity,
Demand an end to free flowing guns continuity.
Bring to this country a means for salvation,
Before we descend to the pit of damnation.
©Copyright Carl Pontiak
Small town solidarity
Small Town solidarity.
'Good morning, Sir,
Ain't it bloody nippy?
there's a bit of snow in the air'.
From pubs escapes the laughter,
A cacophony of voices,
The football on the wide screen,
The bookies offering their choices.
And the market traders stand,
In six layers of clothes.
Selling their odds 'n' ends,
A hanky held to every nose.
The solidarity is in the people,
And the choices they have to make,
From the rent they have to find,
To low paid jobs they have to take.
And even when they're skint,
There's still a smile from their lips,
A friend offering their help,
And enough drinks to sink a ship.
The faces may be hardened,
But that's the life that they have led,
Growing up in poverty,
Five kids sharing one bed.
You see this is the kind of place,
Were people make amends,
Where that person at the bus stop,
Once a stranger, is now a friend.
© Copyright Steven Michael Pape
You cannot trust me
You cannot trust me if you are dishonest.
You cannot trust me if you are immoral.
You cannot trust me if you are corrupt.
You cannot trust me if you create chaos.
You cannot trust me if you are a bully.
You cannot trust me if you constantly lie.
You cannot trust me if you are greedy.
You cannot trust me if you are a racist.
You cannot trust me if you are a sexist.
You cannot trust me if you are a homophobe.
You cannot trust me if you disrespect your elders.
You cannot trust me if you pick on vulnerable people.
You cannot trust me if you abuse a position of power.
You cannot trust me if you abuse a position of trust.
If you're a good soul with good values,
You can trust me until we leave this life.
©Copyright Villayat Sunkmanitu
When Birds Fly
When birds fly do they feel the still sky, as it flaps through their wings?
When the wind blows do they listen, to the tree’s as they sing?
Life. Do they attempt to cling?
To the hymns of past pain, do they feel the sting?
When birds fly do they dodge or do they dance?
Dancing a downward dive distinctively divine.
When all is still do they observe the plants?
Observing the observer with their beady glance.
When birds fly.
©Copyright Jamahl Peterkin
Haunted
Melting frozen moon,
You know my name...
When candle tongues are trembling,
Licking purple tears,
Floods in the obsidian eyes of sphinxes,
Are drowning helpless stars.
Frantic silver bells ring in the hour,
Of never closing doors,
And floors unfold in grotesque mosaics,
Of surreal black-hole scars.
Like an amnesiac ghost,
Burning up with scarlet fever,
While card houses of dawns and sunsets,
Fall apart,
I walk a somnambular endless walk,
Through haunted hallways,
In bloodstained mists,
Of another’s wounded heart.
©Copyright Ieva Rasmussen
Without Meaning
How did I get,
Myself in this mess,
Out of my mind,
And in distress.
Fallen inside,
A hole of my own,
Digging forever,
The seeds I have sown.
Neglect and confusion,
Despair and retreat,
Life without meaning,
A heart with no beat.
©Copyright M Harley
The Undead
I roam around this house all night
Looking for someone to fright-en,
To scare.
Beware,
I'm here,
I'm there,
I'm everywhere.
In the cupboard,
Under the bed.
Be very afraid
Of the undead.
You try to sleep,
As I slowly creep
Around you….
BOOOOO!
©Copyright Rachel Hobson
All the Tears
All the tears,
Won't bring you back.
After many years,
Still feeling the flack.
Though you're gone,
I remember you well.
The way you fought on,
The way you fell!
All the tears,
You're at rest.
I've still got the fears,
I did try my best.
To save your life,
Wasn't for me.
That day of strife,
So why aren't I free?
©Copyright Jason Walker
Negativity
Negativity, the dark unconscious thought,
Scupper like the Stormy cloud,
Throwing mind into the gloomy shroud,
Purity of heart and mind, are no more sound,
Making you mere pity crowd.
The seed of all evil, negativity grown in ignorance and proud,
Negativity built vices mound.
The joy of being human, buried in the guilty ground,
Jealousy, treacheries and fraud are scattering all around.
But you, positivity, have to come out,
Form the ashes of evil thought.
Love, mirth, bliss and faith are all your strengths,
Make the soul and heart virtuous and bright,
And excel the life with grand veracity!
©Copyright Ritesh Kumar Singh
Medication
So. I swallow the chemicals again,
Having proved irrefutably, scientifically,
With control groups recruited,
With my neurons randomised,
With data collected, triangulated,
Ratified, verified, logarythmns applied,
Results blinded, conclusions published,
(in peer reviewed journals);
With everyone involved perfectly clear that i need them.
I swallow them.
I savour the bitterness.
I wave goodbye.
©Copyright Jo McAulay
Your Broken Heart
Your heart broken many years ago
Still brings you sadness and pain.
The shattered parts hang on threads,
Like a mobile suspended by your thoughts.
The pieces move with the winds of life -
Sometimes wide apart by a sudden gust,
Leaving a void behind that can't be filled -
Or - if the breeze is gentle it can move the pieces closer,
Until they join together once again,
Bringing you that old familiar feeling of love,
Back into your life once more,
Ever hopeful that the breeze will stop
And allow the pieces to blend together again,
Returning happiness, joy and contentment,
Back into your lonely life.
©Copyright - Julie Genner
Morning ride
All I can sense and feel,
Is the smell of dewy roses,
Abloom in soils inside your heart,
Through ashes of burned memories,
And runestones of old pain.
Trees run scared,
Like branchy autumn ghosts,
Throughout transparent hallways,
And fragile crystal rooms,
Of silent morning rain.
Head against the window,
A quiet engine song,
Is cradling restless mind,
While roads run underneath,
Like thoughts through fields of dreams.
My soul is trembling,
Like a wild heart of a bird,
Caught in the hunter's bare hand,
And hope feels like a melody,
Coiling gently, in a falling angel's scream.
©Copyright Ieva Rasmussen
A pocket of beauty intruded upon by the incessant drone of life.
Oh how I lament the forgone and unknown days of peace.
A lack of anything but natural movement - the sound of a more gentle existence.
Peace - oh how I long for it.
The art of seeing is the absence of the intrusion of noise.
Echoes of modern greed,
And the scurrying of the population,
Reaches far into nature’s own pockets.
I strive for silence, for peace, and for calm.
One day - when time allows,
And patience bares fruit,
I shall find it but for now I pack up my possessions,
And journey on.
©Copyright Francesca Rachel
The Exhibition
The task is now finished,
But, the ending's on-going.
The celebration's recalled,
And the future is coming.
The work it was fruitful,
And the days - they were long,
The body was weary,
But, we still carried on.
The people all wondered -
'Just what's going on?'
White paint in their spaces,
Where before, there was none!!
The white was important,
The boards were in place,
The work was supported,
Then we tidied the space.
The pictures now visible,
The poems now read,
Artwork safely mounted,
Now - the best time's ahead!!!
©Copyright Julie Genner
Happiness
The urge to smile helps me, to get by.
But when I grin,
That crack of joy spreads within.
Circulating my bones and flesh,
That’s been riveted to my every breath.
©Copyright Paul Ainslie Carruthers
Peace. Deceased.
When the World kills,
Media gets its thrills,
We stay sitting still,
Whilst they get their fill.
And if a baby cries,
Whilst her mother dies,
It is no surprise,
That guilt lives in your eyes.
Pay the bills,
Money in the tills,
Missiles in the skies,
Another of our lies.
Peace. Deceased.
©Copyright Daniel Mortell
Worlds
I turned to face the other way,
Willing a door to open;
Or for a perfect window,
To crystallise from vapours,
And remove me, if only for a while.
Swollen stone of a chest.
Bright eyes. Words emerging now,
Would have a certain colour,
But my throat won’t seem to give them life,
Like a stronger woman.
Retreating is only pitiable,
If you call it so; but I do.
I slip back underneath to be swaddled;
Like a broken thing, no longer required,
But important to save.
Days lose their names,
And my pupils dilate to blacken bovine eyes.
I am the defender and queen of my heart,
Undressed at her glass; following ridges,
In shadows cast by yellow light.
Beautiful sense surround me;
Please give me a quick heart.
Let me choose one way because,
A static state is nothing but half death.
I don’t know how to lose these hours.
Now I am fully stretched;
Reclining on the in-between,
To fall,
Or to be held close like an infant,
Bursting and grateful for warmth and light.
Maybe nothing’s static after all,
When you’re turned and tricked by
Whispers in the dark;
Held taught between two worlds,
And lost in one.
©Copyright Lorna Wallace
