M A Schaffner
Arlington, Virginia
Dear Media
Under the desert, invoices in clay,
rites on papyrus, scriptures on vellum,
and perhaps a chip that no one can read
programmed in a language not only dead
but irretrievably inaudible.
And what does remain - waves echoed through space,
eternally receding - has no meaning
to creatures unacquainted with used cars,
migraines, pizza, sexual dysfunction,
and the spiralling cost of you-name-it.
Time made Ozymandias ludicrous
but did not erase his boast. Today's kings
will bury each other's transparent glyphs
under obelisks of eroding static.
Caroline Carver
Falmouth, Cornwall
morning on the wild side
went today to an untended part of the garden
watched spiders open store windows
and wait like grandmothers
knitting
while tumbrels load their grisly cargo
an Alexander beetle in shimmering tailcoat
lumbers slowly along
like someone from last night's party
trying to hail a taxi
ants are working out
on what seems to be
the highway to fulfilment
carrying goods and chattles in both directions
a couple of wasps try to kill each other
not so different really
from any street corner
Sheri Reda
Chicago
Involved
We are deeply involved
like a nice, firm cut
through skin.
Like the quick Colorado
through granite.
Like a vertical
slash through veins.
The path you carve
courses through me
and out
again, taking
more than you notice,
less than you need.
Dudley Sutton
London
Junky Love
I met her in the Priory
We were in rehab
She was hot and fiery
Tasty as a kebab
Addict thin and wiry
A junky bag of bones
Her hair was thick and briary
Crimped by mobile phones
I knew I'd caught her eye
One evening leaving Group
Her fingers bushed my thigh
My boxers looped the loop
We fell among the bushes
Undressing as we tumbled
Despite my urgent shushes
Her giggles has us rumbled
After the enquiry
They drove us forth with whips
I took her to a friery
For a plate of fish and chips.
Fred Beake
Torquay, Devon
Yesterday and Today
Yesterday:
broom
an an arm
through a hedge
and one bird
pattering
like a machine
and another
sweet-tuned and today
dances of cold
light and the old man
with white handkerchief for hat
bending over
by the hut
that is his own place
and the winter greens
like venusian troopers
awaiting orders
Elizabeth Rimington
Scarborough, Yorkshire
On Walden Pond (Pantoum form)
He sits alone in the gloaming
the pool reflects his thinking
What needs he of company?
But a gift lies on the table
The pool reflects his thinking
He is content that this should be so
But a gift lies on the table
The visitor remains unknown
He is content that this should be so
What needs he of company?
The visitor remains unknown
He sits alone in the gloaming.