Flamingos - Oscar Milde

Thank you Lord, Flamingos cry,
surveying, with disdainful stare,
all manner of ignoble beasts
of crooked horn or matted hair.

Thank you, Dear Lord, they intone
their prayers of gratitude to Him,
for making Others ugly
while making Us so chic and slim.

Oscar Milde

Cat Burglar - Edgar Allan Poet

I curl up upon the armchair.
I purr and stare defiantly.
I will not move, let no one dare
to interfere, to dislodge me
or, when they slumber, softly deep,
I’ll suffocate them in their sleep.

They think I am a sulky cat.
They could not be the more misled,
for I am worse, by far, than that:
I am the Spirit of the Dead,
a demon dressed in feline skin.
When darkness falls, let sport begin.

I’ll sidle carefully upstairs
then enter bedrooms, one by one,
(their overheated, smelly lairs)
spring on each bed and have some fun.
I’ll dip into their psychic streams
and steal, from each, their precious dreams.

Edgar Allan Poet

Ding-ding, "all aboard the 42" - Tony Bradley

I came out the pub, a little worse for wear
I left the car there, being mindful of the law
I took a bus, which turned out to be fun
‘cos I’d never driven a bus before.

I thought I’d better avoid main roads,
so I went cross-country, sort of, not many stops
but, arriving home, despite my caution
TV cameras, armoured vehicles, and twenty cops.

Tony Bradley

The Cry - Trudie Shannon

The mist has thickened into impenetrable fog
But the sea swirls, sucks and swells just the same.
Fog draped rocks are become invisible or disguised.
Light gleams are suffused with water
Cannot pierce the shadowy shrouds.
All sound is muffled
Until a familiar haunted call from atop it’s rock pinnacle.
The foghorn’s cry carries like dust on a desert wind
Puncturing each water droplet,
Startling roosting birds, sending mice scurrying,
Arousing me from fitful sleep and fearful dreams of floundering ships.
Its muted echo tumbles around me
And I breathe more easily in its embrace,
Island born, island bound to the sea
And the rocks and the cliffs
And the foghorn, that static saviour reticent in sunshine.

Trudie Shannon

Tokens of Love - Diane Scantlebury

She didn’t need expensive flowers,
She didn’t want a special day,
There was no need
For a fancy restaurant,
Or the extortionate gift
For which he’d pay,
All she wanted
Was his full attention,
Not ruby hearts or a turtle dove,
All she wanted
Was care and consideration,
Not trivial trappings or artificial tokens of love.

Diane Scantlebury

Scratch Card Heaven - Donald Keyman

Give us this day our daily bread
So that we can give it all to Super Fred
We'll take it wholemeal or unleavened, 'cos
We're living in a scratch card heaven

Take the widow's final mite
So that maybe the widow might
Win 5 grand or maybe 7, 'cos
She's living in a scratch card heaven

This then is the poverty trap
Why earn more just to pay it back
She needs some cash for baby Kevin
Born into a scratch card heaven

The cardboard carpet at her feet is
Made of hopes the gamble didn't meet
Some will win but she will never
Escape the hell of scratch card heaven

Her sad addiction is filling up the pot
There's 9 million reasons why it won't stop
A balanced budget is where we're heading
Using the manna from scratch card heaven

Donald Keyman

Room Full Of Dreams - Lyndon Queripel

Missing lock from the door
A rusty key on the floor
Dust everywhere so it seems
Torn picture on the wall
A moment to recall
In a room full of dreams

Echoes in the night
Fade in the morning light
Awake from cries and screams
Disconnected telephone
Visions all alone
In a room full of dreams

The day begins to break
In a dawn of heart ache
And teardrops turn to streams
A memory of a kiss
And a broken promise
In a room full of dreams.

Lyndon Queripel

The Groundhog’s Longing - Kathy Figueroa

Source:Wikipedia

The groundhog felt a longing
'Twas a most peculiar thing
A strange stirring in the soul
Could it be a sign of spring?

He pined for warmer weather
Which he hoped was on its way
So in his damp, dark burrow
He'd no longer have to stay

His empty stomach rumbled
As he thought of tender shoots
Because all he'd had for months
Were some tough, dirt-covered roots

He remembered his own kind
How they'd frolicked in the sun
He ached for companionship
And needed fresh air and fun

So down his hallway tunnel
He scurried to his front door
In great anticipation
Of many good things in store

Would expectations be met
And his ardent hopes come true?
Would his sore heart leap for joy
That winter was nearly through?

The answers to these questions
Will be revealed, at long last
Come February 2nd
And the Groundhog Day forecast!

Kathy Figueroa