Zero Carbon Journey - Stephen A. Roberts

The new Saviour is here:
a girl child this time
was it prophesied?

For I have not seen it
in the runes
or written in the scrolls
scriptures or tablets.

That she would sail a boat
across America's moat
to save the World
so you won't have to.

Stephen A. Roberts

Open Mic - Richard Fleming

At Open Mic on Monday night
the theme was ‘Leave’ but still they came
in ones and twos, all burning bright
with sheafs of poems, no two the same.
Yes, Fifty Shades of Po-e-tray
few rhymed, but that’s the modern way.

Some read with breathless, high-pitched squeaks
or mumbled incoherently.
Some had perfected their techniques
and read with verve and energy.
We listened, then, with faces, stern,
stepped to the mic to take our turn.

Some read from pages, some from screens.
Some poems were fun, some poems were sad.
A few were clearly in-betweens.
Some were unquestionably mad
but then, of course, most poets are
madder than average, by far.

We heard short poems and poems, too long:
the latter made us stretch and yawn.
Now and again we had a song
then all at once our time was gone.
The readings stopped. Now I could cough,
sup up my drink and bugger off.

Richard Fleming

Sail Away - Tony Bradley

Growing up in hard stuff can distort your life
you respond to things, with a glare, and a growl
but it can be so different . . if you rise above it
and try to smile, instead of scowl.

You didn’t choose the boat you came in
so that Ferryman, you don’t have to pay
set your own course, build your own boat
leave the hardship . . . just sail away . .

Tony Bradley

Spritual Ritual - Lyndon Queripel

Did you burn out in the fire
When the flames got too high
Did you lose your shroud of cloud
When you touched the sky
Was your temple made of straw
Or was it made of gold
When the lightning struck
And the thunder rolled

Did you weather all the seasons
Or was your reign in vain
And did the blood you shed
Only leave behind a stain
When you danced across the water
Of the living dead
Did they sacrifice their lies
Or turn away instead

You ran around high circles
In the air of nowhere fast
Now you present your future
With fragments of the past
When you finally got the message
Written on the throne
You looked behind to find
Your mind had turned to stone

When you knelt before the altar
To offer up your prayer
You found your heart was empty
And your soul was bare
Without a trace of grace
Where will you place the blame
On the day when time stands still
And you have to answer to your name.

Lyndon Queripel

Empty Cans - Diane Scantlebury

So that’s why I’m on the beer this morning,
Last night I had nowhere to sleep,
Rough and ragged on a hard park bench,
The stars and the cold are the usual company I keep,

So that’s why it’s beer and oblivion for breakfast
As a salve for my lost soul’s pain,
In an existence where there’s little hope or dignity,
Only crushed, empty cans on the ground remain.

Diane Scantlebury

Time Travel - Oscar Milde

The year is Twenty Thirty One
a new decade has just begun
and if time-travel is your bag
you’ll join me here without a snag
but what a shock, what a surprise,
you hardly will believe your eyes:
the Guernsey of Twenty Nineteen
has vanished like it’s never been.
No more mind-numbing traffic jams,
aggro, hostility or scams,
or undisguised abuse of power,
with prices rising hour by hour.
The modern Sarnia has changed
though sometimes it just seems deranged.
We all live indoors nowadays.
Outside, pollution like a haze
hangs over our poor Bailiwick:
if you go out you come back sick.
Life’s safer now with VRC
(that’s virtual reality),
much better than real life by far.
We live like beetles in a jar
for our protection, say the States
(yes, we still have those reprobates).
Nobody works, it’s too much fuss.
Now robots do the jobs for us.
St Peter Port is just glass towers
bedecked with artificial flowers,
there’s no marinas, not one boat,
all’s tarmac now nothing’s afloat.
The highlight of our little lives
is once a year we and our wives
are taken on a trip to see
something miraculous for free
Today we’re off to see real grass,
extremely rare, kept under glass.
It used to flourish all about
but blade by blade we stamped it out.

Oscar Milde

El Paso - Richard Fleming

Withdraw the bullets, mend the flesh.
Place back the bullets in the gun.
Return the weapon to the store.
Remove the fury from the heart.
Transform the shooter to the youth
he was before obsessive thoughts
led him, against humanity,
to spew out death like obscene words
and scatter souls like fleeing birds.

Richard Fleming

Nothing Else Planned - Ian Duquemin

Will you walk with me darlin’?
Will you take hold my hand?
I don't know where we're going
But we got nothing else planned
Let's head for the sunset
Watch it fall from our view
I will keep you beside me
The entire night through
We can lay in the fresh fields
Count the stars in the skies
I will keep those that shimmer
In the stillness, of your eyes
And the moon it shall greet us
Like an old trusted friend
And paint you in silver
In this time, that we spend
When we wake in the morning
With the beckoning sun
We will follow it somewhere
We’ll just keep, moving on
As long as we're together
We are never alone
And whatever we find there
We will make that our home
But let's take long time
Be it gentle and safe
This path which we travel
Is a journey, one of faith
And as we grow older
We can look back and say
That we did this together
And we've come a long way
But each step was worthy
And every day new
This life that I dreamed of
Was inspired by you
And when we both lay down
For the very last time
I will keep hold your fingers
And your hand, clasped in mine
We can roam into twilight
Where we never will part
Our journey continued
Yet only, just the start
Will you walk with me darlin’?
Will you take hold my hand?
I don't know where we're going
But we got nothing else planned

Ian Duquemin