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