To Beauty, A Prayer - Kathy Figueroa

I’m going to listen to Pachelbel
And marvel at the Canon he wrote.
I’ll revel in each clear, ringing chord
And in the precision of each note.

When I sit down at the piano,
I play this with reverence and care,
For his great and glorious music
Is as though, to Beauty, a prayer.

Kathy Figueroa

Still Only 62p A Litre - Stephen A. Roberts

it's turned out not very nice today
time to keep in the warm I'd say
I'll flick the switch for summer heat
burn some oil - a winter treat

using the planet's stored up fire
I’ll warm all the water I require
plants and plankton from the dawn of time
finally reach the end of the line

in controlled combustion they meet their doom
in the unseen boiler room
and as the wind outside starts to whine
I bathe in the Cretaceous sunshine

Stephen A. Roberts

The Horses Are On The Track - Chris Hudson

Hey there! Mr. Sand-Man
One day you’re a glad man
Your style of fashion is no fad

Dress up in pearls and sequins!
Put all your doubters to route
Forget the school you learned by rote
Freely embark upon being

Do moor burns trickle and drain your tears?
The tears have hardened with the years
Your rent’s in arrears
Take a day or two.

What’s within you is now without
No need to cry or shout
You argued with death despised
Now joy is realised.

Sea-shells and snails adorn your garden
Time hides amongst your toes
Who knows where it is born and how it goes?
Sometimes fast, othertimes slow.

Your friend dangle from your fingers on telephone lines
Like valuable rings they sparkle and spangle and shine
You wear stars on your brows
You frown, inveigle and wrangle.

Can you shoot common sense dead?
Dense, you prove your own head
What’s to prove? You lose
And the Professor grooves
Shoots shove aside dense cement
Your silent roots.

Two minds in one brain?
Too different, always the same
Talks and spits in your eye
Ineffably stupid and extravagantly shy.

Chris Hudson

Can’t Complain - Diane Scantlebury

White rabbit and swan shaped clouds
Across the Caribbean sky chase,
Majestic coconut palms sway and bow
To vapour dragons and galleons as they race,
By the pool lounge the tattooed,
Beer swigging masses,
Their children splashing and cavorting
Draw disdainful glances from the snobby,
Hiding behind their dark glasses,

The sun blazes, waves crash
It’s “happy hour” once more,
By now red, raw and sunburnt
More rum and beer
Down their parched throats they pour,
Before the scene gets too boisterous
Just in time comes the rain,
Like the beer
It’s cool, wet and refreshing,
So none can grumble or complain!

Diane Scantlebury

The Knowing - Susan Jones

Go
visit
back home, girl,
take some mind's ease,
touch again, spit drenched mauve cuckoo flowers,
smell meadow grass, eye cornflowers, true blue-
lay your heart wide
to old friends,
who know
you.

Susan Jones