The Barred, again - Tony Bradley

You just don't want me, I know it.
Recently, I thought I'd cracked it
I was happier, than I could say
until the bloody barman told me
it's tomorrow, they've changed the day.

Tony Bradley

Christmas Wrapping - Tony Gardner

Just a  warning to you, friends 
When wrapping Christmas gifts.
Make sure youare relaxed and calm
And organised a bit.

What e'er you do, don't sip as you
Fold pretty paper over
Grandma's chocs, or Aunties book
Or brother Bill's pullover.

I know it's pretty thirsty work
And that whisky looks inviting
But  best to wait til later
You don't need to get excited.

I never do, don't touch the stuff
Until the wrapping's done
Then with the gifts beneath the tree
I might just have a 'little' one

All done at last, I'll have a dram
Relax and settle down
Now where's that old remote control
It's nowhere to be found

If  you unwrap your present
And are surprised to find
A scruffy old  remote control
Please give it back.......It's Mine! 

Tony Gardner

December 6th, 1989 - Kathy Figueroa

I can still remember
opening my studio door
and the shock of seeing the newspaper
in the hallway, on the floor

And what that unbidden issue
of the Toronto Star said -
fourteen women at Ecole Poly-technique
in Montreal massacred …shot dead

And I remember the fear
That slowly crept up my spine
As I looked at that awful
Early December headline

Was this surprise at my door a warning
some sort of indirect threat
that if you’re female, bright, and ambitious
this is what you might get?

As it turned out, it was left
by a man with a good intention
who wanted to apprise me of the news
not cause me apprehension

I felt compelled to write this
to mark the tragic date
when common human decency
was overruled by hate

When fourteen innocent lives
with so much potential were ended
by ignoble and evil actions
which can never be defended

Kathy Figueroa

Pirates - Trudie Shannon

The pirates have disembarked,
Have left their decks swabbed clean
And their treasure hidden.
Disguised as tourists
They amble lazy around the streets
Given away only by the thud of a wooden leg
Or the clink of a cutlass
Hidden in a shopping bag.

Trudie Shannon

Commuting - Stephen A. Roberts

To Town; from Town, 
every day 
the metal river ebbs and flows 
crawling along by the sea. 

Bumper to bumper 
suspended in transit 
this sluggish gyre churns out 
a stream of empty thoughts. 

Watching the grey rollers and breakers, 
I wait for the steel tide to take me 
and spew me, lifeless 
on to the tarmacked beach. 

Stephen A. Roberts

Balance - Diane Scantlebury

In her head’s the sound of waves,
As they lash relentlessly 
Against the land,
Each spitting their foam
Onto the beach,
To dribble between the grains of sand,

And across the blank canvas of that sand,
A single track
Of footsteps become imprinted,
There to be eroded
On the next tide,
Their existence lost or barely hinted,

In her head’s the sound of trees,
As buffeted by the wind
Their leaves dance and rustle,
While birds cling to the swaying platforms
Of the branches,
A brief respite as on their forages they hustle,

And from within the shelter of those leaves,
The tiny aviators face their daily challenge,
Then hurl themselves headlong
Towards the sand,
Where survival or death 
Hang in the balance.

Diane Scantlebury

Long Time Passes - Lyndon Queripel

I’m sure I’ve seen your face before
But your name has slipped my mind
So I’m going to look in my book
Just to see what I can find

I’m sure I’ve seen your face before
But I can’t remember when
I try to free my memory
Every now and then

Long time passes
But I’d never forget if we met
Long time passes
You bet I’m not out of debt yet

I’m sure I’ve seen your face before
Now I don’t mean to stare
A shadow cast from the past
When the Sun was there to share

I’m sure I’ve seen your face before
It’s another mystery
Make no mistake I give and take
But you won’t remember me.

Lyndon Queripel

Burning Questions - Edgar Allan Poet

I am a maid, Your Worships, please:
not wicked, me, I meant no harm.
I beg you now, upon my knees
to please desist, it hurts my arm.
You are strong men while I am weak.
Undo the rope and let me speak.

Last Friday night, I heard a cry:
it was my friend: her name you know.
She is the witch, not I, not I.
We went, by moonlight, to and fro.
She bade me cast aside my frock
to frolic on the Catioroc

and though we danced without our clothes,
I did not meet the Devil there.
From that bleak hill no fiend arose
to ravish me or kiss my hair.
Please, not the fire! Here are the names!
Sweet neighbours, do not fan those flames.

Edgar Allan Poet

Lovers - Richard Fleming

Once they were lovers, now they meet
by chance,
a lifetime later
in a busy street.
They greet each other cautiously,
embrace, but tentatively.
One glance
is all it takes
to remind him
how the world had once seemed
limitless
with her in it.
While she, acutely conscious
that she only dressed to shop,
feels suddenly complete again
and prays that time might stop.

Richard Fleming