I Think Just How My Shape Will Rise - Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

I think just how my shape will rise
When I shall be forgiven,
Till hair and eyes and timid head
Are out of sight, in heaven.

I think just how my lips will weigh
With shapeless, quivering prayer
That you, so late, consider me,
The sparrow of your care.

I mind me that of anguish sent,
Some drifts were moved away
Before my simple bosom broke, --
And why not this, if they?

And so, until delirious borne
I con that thing, -- "forgiven," --
Till with long fright and longer trust
I drop my heart, unshriven!

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Image : Pixabay - Darkmoon_Art

Another Island - Stephen A. Roberts

I grew up on another island
With the mackerel man and his evening shouts
Down quiet roads we rode our steeds 
Through the gorse and fern-swathed land
To the beaches pure and empty
And the smell of sea-washed sand

The past is another island
Sepia toned and fishy boned
Limpet mines and limpet crabs
Winkles in a canvas bag
Doors unlocked
Ships on the rocks
Craning in at the
Old White Rock

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Copyright Pete Davies

Think - Kathy Figueroa

Think of how much better society would be today
If all of those young men hadn't died in such a brutal way
Think of the advancements in humanities and science
If, to deadly conflict, the world had expressed defiance
Surely, there must be nonviolent ways to “settle old scores”
Or curtail tyranny, than to engage in endless wars
If only humanity’s feral instincts could be tamed
And mankind’s noblest higher qualities were what remained

Kathy Figueroa

November 11, 2021 Lest we forget

Lost Paradise - Lyndon Queripel

The vandal of the scandal
The villain of the piece
Flying off the handle
With friends and enemies
From pillar to post
And light to shade
The ghost that hurts most
Is the one that’s betrayed
By a kiss, a broken promise
Denied, tried and finally died
Like a lamb, a sacrifice
The price of lost paradise.

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - 4222320

Anthem For Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
---Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,---
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen

This item is from The First World War Poetry Digital Archive, University of Oxford (www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit);
© Copyright The Estate of Wilfred Owen. The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto Windus, 1983. Preliminaries, introductory, editorial matter, manuscripts and fragments omitted.

Moth to a Flame - Ian Duquemin

I'm drawn to you… 
Like a moth to a flame 
You set fire to my wings, all over again 
Broken, I spiral, and crash to the floor 
But you help me back up, just to burn me some more 

I come to you… 
Like a moth to a flame 
Knowing this glow, will bring pleasure and pain
Your light, inferno. The passion in you
To burn in your flame, I am honoured to do 

Ian Duquemin


Image : Pixabay - Josch13/Hans

Icarus - Richard Fleming

I am falling from high
but they do not notice.

The air, through wings
that promised much,
keens like a mourner.

Creeping ants below
evolve
to shepherd, ploughman, angler.

I fall unseen.

Someone
will dream it later.

I have no time
to scream.

The water is
hard as stone.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - dimitrisvetsikas1969

Eco Meeting - Donald Keyman

St Greta of Thunberg 
Stared cold as an iceberg 
At the men in suits 
Who didn’t give two hoots  
About the eco crisis 
Any more than Isis 
Harangued by a minor 
Who didn’t mention China 
They dug in their heels  
Against her childish squeals 
Built more cars and sealed 
Fossil burning deals 
And, way out east 
Launched a coal-fired beast 

Donald Keyman


Image : Pixabay - tiburi