Listen - Richard Fleming

Listen
to the children cry.
Hear their words of exhortation.

Listen
to the children cry.
Hear their words of accusation.

Black, poisoned streams, polluted seas,
bleak deserts where once were lush plains,
species extinct, no beasts, no bees:
all this for quick financial gains.
No grass, no flowers, no forest trees,
just unforgiving acid rains.

Our ill-tempered abdication of all responsibility validates their accusation of our culpability.

Though time is short we have a chance
to change, to redirect our powers.
Our standard stance, indifference,
is challenged as the planet sours,
for every child’s inheritance
is compromised: the fault is ours.

Listen
to the children cry
Hear their words of consternation.

Listen
to the children cry.
Hear their words of desperation.

Richard Fleming

Hello - Kriss Lee

© Kriss Lee

© Kriss Lee

I say hello to you every day
But you no longer reply
That breaks my fragile heart
And I just sit and cry

I say hello to you every day
And talk about the fools we were
How sadly now it's gone away
The memories now all become a blur

I say hello to you every day
And talk about so many things
I tell you what I'm doing now
And open up with all my feelings

I say hello to you every day
With almost a nonchalance
But my breath hitches and stutters
As yet again there's no response

I say hello to you every day
With an aching deep in my heart
Knowing no answer will come
So long it's been this way, now we're apart

I say hello to you every day
But there’s no reply, all I hear is Myself
With these trembling old hands
I replace your Urn upon the shelf

Kriss Lee

Land’s End - Diane Scantlebury

Never to tire of a view
That wouldn’t my eyes offend,
Where green grass meets sky blue
At land and journey’s end,

The trees’ branches half clothed in leaf
Stir in the wind and bend,
Some storm cracked and broken
That nature couldn’t mend,
Here birds alight, rest and call
And to their mate shrill messages send,

How could I tire of a view that changes?
As each season descends,
Where grey granite rock meets green sea
At land and journey’s end.

Diane Scantlebury

Cheese - Gordon Zola

Roquefort, Camembert and Brie
are perfect nourishment for me.
The names themselves are poetry:
a wholly wholesome trinity.
Cholesterol, we all agree,
invades each vein or artery
and too much fat will guarantee
a waist-size notching fifty-three,
a lifetime of obesity,
a loss of spontaneity,
I’ll end up slumped on the settee,
cheesed-off with dire daytime TV
but dammit, what will be will be ...
Feed me another wedge of Brie!

Gordon Zola

An Old Wives Tale? - Trudie Shannon

She tells me that for those with fragile hearts
It is best to stay indoors
When the cold wind blows hard.
She says it’s medically proven.
There are testimonies.
She says it’s wise to keep feet warm and slipper shod,
Wiser to merely observe through tight shut windows,
While the wind runs wild
Lifting hats off heads and tiles off roofs.
Wrenching branches from ancient trees
Casting giant waves to crash mightily
Upon unprotected shores.
She tells me this as we stand together,
Watching through her tight shut windows,
As flurries of leaves skitter and swirl
And birds fly backwards going forwards.
I see that her feet are encased in warm slippers,
And her hand rests lightly upon her breast
Where her fingertips can just feel the metal disc of her pacemaker.

Trudie Shannon