Flamingos - Oscar Milde

Thank you Lord, Flamingos cry,
surveying, with disdainful stare,
all manner of ignoble beasts
of crooked horn or matted hair.

Thank you, Dear Lord, they intone
their prayers of gratitude to Him,
for making Others ugly
while making Us so chic and slim.

Oscar Milde

Cat Burglar - Edgar Allan Poet

I curl up upon the armchair.
I purr and stare defiantly.
I will not move, let no one dare
to interfere, to dislodge me
or, when they slumber, softly deep,
I’ll suffocate them in their sleep.

They think I am a sulky cat.
They could not be the more misled,
for I am worse, by far, than that:
I am the Spirit of the Dead,
a demon dressed in feline skin.
When darkness falls, let sport begin.

I’ll sidle carefully upstairs
then enter bedrooms, one by one,
(their overheated, smelly lairs)
spring on each bed and have some fun.
I’ll dip into their psychic streams
and steal, from each, their precious dreams.

Edgar Allan Poet

Ding-ding, "all aboard the 42" - Tony Bradley

I came out the pub, a little worse for wear
I left the car there, being mindful of the law
I took a bus, which turned out to be fun
‘cos I’d never driven a bus before.

I thought I’d better avoid main roads,
so I went cross-country, sort of, not many stops
but, arriving home, despite my caution
TV cameras, armoured vehicles, and twenty cops.

Tony Bradley

The Cry - Trudie Shannon

The mist has thickened into impenetrable fog
But the sea swirls, sucks and swells just the same.
Fog draped rocks are become invisible or disguised.
Light gleams are suffused with water
Cannot pierce the shadowy shrouds.
All sound is muffled
Until a familiar haunted call from atop it’s rock pinnacle.
The foghorn’s cry carries like dust on a desert wind
Puncturing each water droplet,
Startling roosting birds, sending mice scurrying,
Arousing me from fitful sleep and fearful dreams of floundering ships.
Its muted echo tumbles around me
And I breathe more easily in its embrace,
Island born, island bound to the sea
And the rocks and the cliffs
And the foghorn, that static saviour reticent in sunshine.

Trudie Shannon

Tokens of Love - Diane Scantlebury

She didn’t need expensive flowers,
She didn’t want a special day,
There was no need
For a fancy restaurant,
Or the extortionate gift
For which he’d pay,
All she wanted
Was his full attention,
Not ruby hearts or a turtle dove,
All she wanted
Was care and consideration,
Not trivial trappings or artificial tokens of love.

Diane Scantlebury