Speak From My Heart - Ian Duquemin

I don't speak with my voice
I don't speak with my tongue
As whatever they say, seems to always be wrong
So I speak with my heart
As the words that I feel
Are the right things to say
And are honestly real
I speak about love
And I talk about truth
Put your hand to my chest
Where you'll feel the proof
Every beat sings a verse
And that verse becomes song
When I speak from my heart
It can never be wrong

Ian Duquemin

Suffering - Tony Gardner

I caught a little virus
at the local shopping Mall
It just jumped into my basket,
wasn't chasing it at all
It's knocked me sort of sideways,
and I'm feeling awful rough
I've got a raging headache
and a horrid, hacking cough.
My throat it seems on fire
You should hear my fearsome sneeze
My energy more equal to
a languid summer breeze

But do I get sympathy ?
You bet your life I don't

I'm surrounded here by tablets
Lozenges and Vicks
Paracetamol and Lemsip
Still I'm feeling sick
My lovely kids can't give a toss
they're busy on their phones
My faithful dog keeps pestering me
for Walkies and his bone.
I'm in a truly awful state
But there's worse I'm telling you
My wife just told our neighbour
"Oh, he's only got Man Flu".

Tony Gardner

Anthropod - Richard Fleming

They sit at desks, PC-equipped,
round-shouldered, fingers stroking keys:
without exception microchipped
beneath their skin, like worker-bees
engaged in labour: a dark hive
of insects only half alive.

An artificial, sterile pod,
is their environment, austere.
A faceless robot is their God.
Its scrutiny engenders fear
so they work tirelessly, these fools:
not men or women, merely tools.

This is the future, mark it well:
all life ersatz, no air, no trees.
No brimstone but no less a Hell
where there can be no escapees.
All life lived in an endless Now.
The Beast’s mark stamped on every brow.

Richard Fleming

Three Kittens - Trudie Shannon

She is a farmer’s wife, she is a farmer
She drowned the kittens
She said, it had to be done.
She said, It broke my heart
She said, I put them in a sack
She said, I plunged the sack snap, like that, into the bucket
She said, I had no choice
I was on my own.

It seemed barbaric to me
And I really didn’t want to listen or to hear.

I leave the farm and the farmer’s wife.

Now I reflect and consider,
How many small bodies has the sea swallowed
As the Syrian refugees flee their war?

It’s barbaric
But it seems we shed more tears over kittens.

Trudie Shannon

Two Sides To Every Story - Lyndon Queripel

There’s two sides to every story
But we’ll listen to yours first
Have you changed it for the better
Or just left it for the worst
You’ve been drinking lies like water
But haven’t quenched your thirst

There’s two sides to every story
The inside and the out
Together with your explanation
You ride your roundabout
Hoping experience will give
The benefit of the doubt

There’s two sides to every story
And two to every penny
But you’ve run out of words
You’ve already used too many
Now you’re looking for excuses
But you know you haven’t any

There’s two sides to every story
But you’ve yet to hear mine
It’s your turn for your ears to burn
And disguise your eyes to shine
I’ve rolled some gold into my silence
And put my values on the line.

Lyndon Queripel

Animals - Stephen A. Roberts

Yes, that's what the animals do
In the wild, in their natural zoo
They live, they mate, they fight, they die
They starve, they run, they kill, they fly
Just like they have always done
Ever since there was a Sun
Long before the cameras came
And showed us that we are all the same

Stephen A. Roberts

Life Unravelling - Diane Scantlebury

Where have you been young man?
What adventures have you experienced?
And what have you seen?
I sense that you’ve been over the edge
Fallen off the jagged cliff of sanity,
I can tell by your fixed smile,
Your trembling hands,
As you embroider while you wait,
Muttering under your breath,
Curses and profanities,

Where to now young man?
Where will you go?
Each day you return
To sit and patiently sew,
Your mind vacantly travelling,
The tangled threads
Of your short life,
Once tightly wound, unravelling.

Diane Scantlebury

Seasons - Tony Bradley

So distant, now . . those hot, hazy days
when even the winds were warm
the Sun slept little, from it’s scarlet set
to another bright morning, a dazzling dawn.

Too soon, the Sun slumbers, slow to rise
as golden leaves glisten, glossed by night’s rain
and falling,twirling, they waltz to Autumn’s wind
and bristling, bare bushes face Winter again.

January breezes begin their frosty toil
crispening a crust on the slumbering soil.
Soon, plucky bulbs will peep, and on dark, stark trees
Spring’s faithful companions, little green leaves.

Tony Bradley

Paper Weight - Donald Keyman

Another day another report
That's all your hard-earned taxes bought
The States have squandered all your wealth
On consultant's words for a dusty shelf

No day goes by without a suggestion
To spend some more on a new investigation
Shall we look into a brand new harbour
Or find ways to use less carbon?

Any idea must of course be contested
And in multiple papers our cash invested
But who can tell if a plan is attractive
When half the document is redacted?

We can only watch as the deadline slips
At least we can use it to wrap our chips
As the experts trouser their heap of bread
The massive tome remains unread

Donald Keyman