Here’s to the Women - Kathy Figueroa

Here’s to the women who wore pants to school
When skirts or dresses only were the rule
 
Here’s to the women who made a safe place
For the battered to shelter, when the violent gave chase
 
Here’s to the women who fought to change laws
To improve life for all, a humane and just cause
 
On International Women’s Day, let’s pause and reflect
And give credit where due, along with respect
 
Kathy Figueroa


Image : Pixabay - dimitrisvetsikas1969

Water Under The Bridge - Lyndon Queripel

It’s all water under the bridge
And clouds across the sky
Where time just seems to fly

It’s all water under the bridge
Just listen for a sigh
As dreams begin to die

It’s all water under the bridge
There’s no point to deny
The years have passed you by

It’s all water under the bridge
There’s a shadow in your eye
With no tears left to dry

It’s all water under the bridge
Of a river running dry
While winds just whisper why.

Lyndon Queripel


Image : Pixabay - fietzfotos

The Bear's Tears - Stephen A. Roberts

the Stranglers back in the cold war
sang no more heroes any more
Tina Turner didn’t need one too
but now it turns out that we do
a former purveyor of stand up gags
stood up would not be gagged
walking tall in the ruined cities
Russia’s nemesis Volodymyr Zelensky
he defies the forces so maleficial
tanks that come bearing his initial
are soon toasted by the inhabitants
with flaming spirits and panzerfausts
an echo of the Reich - an ironic twist
as they blow apart the new iron fist
how can this madman's desires be sated
in new Aleppos bombed and cratered?
on the state run TV news
brave words appear, Putin accused
on a placard behind the presenter
held up by the beautiful dissenter
I fear for her and all her kin
the true heroes digging in
manning makeshift barricades
against the random fusillades
from the sky the evil comes
thermobaric and cluster bombs
Mariupol theatre is blown apart
random shelling is destroying art
violating all accepted norms
sickeningly the hospital burns
a mother dies with child inside
tell me that you didn’t cry
to see stickers green yellow red black
affixed to victims of the attacks
what can we offer them
apart from weapons and hand-wringing men
a spare room for £350 a week
come and stay with the woken meek
watching aghast on 85 inch screens
to find out that it seems
they are people just like us
with nannies, pets and all that stuff
let’s empty out a few glad rags
into some charity bound refuse bags
might we see our discarded trews
worn by a refugee on the news
running past a Smart car on fire
from the Syrian guns for hire
meanwhile in a Kyiv Oblast field
before the bride in combats he kneeled
they believe in what they’re doing
there is hope among the ruins
at the wedding - no red flowers -
just a few last precious hours
some moments of serenity
in the midst of this insanity
(and if I believed it would do any good
then pray for them I surely would)
the oligarchs are not ashamed
they listen to weasel words of blame
then transfer everything away
to avoid the financial judgment day
now there comes some talk of peace
to make a deal with the beast
though while they sat down to their talks
missiles rained down on Mariupol port
Europe again hangs in the balance
in the shadow of nuclear weapons
Mother Russia weeps to see
her evil child's atrocities
In body bags the awful proof
Of the cost to conscripted youth
from this dirty war, this genocide
for which those guilty must be tried
the resistance is an example to us all
think: what happens next if they fall
brave Ukraine please do not falter
don’t be a sacrifice on mad Vlad's altar

Stephen A. Roberts

Mr. Froggy - Tony Gardner

My  name  is  Mr  Froggy

In  this  pond  I  was  born

I'm  back  again  to  fertilise

Another  batch  of  spawn.

To  reproduce  is  everything

I'd  like  to  make  that  clear

But  Tadpoles  are  no  care  of  mine

See  you  again  next  year.

Tony Gardner


Image : Pixabay - Couleur

I Thee Wed - Richard Fleming

As, with this gas-mask I thee wed,
Zed-missiles whistle overhead.
Machine-gun fire to left and right
reminds us of our parlous plight.
Our wedding bed is now debris,
our Best Man is a refugee:
he had a funny speech prepared
but scarpered when the sirens blared.
Amazing how war can transform:
our Bridesmaids are in uniform
and crouch in trenches, day and night,
untrained, but still prepared to fight.
The other day, the church got hit
but church or no church, we’ll commit
and, though we can’t walk down the aisle,
let’s opt for marriage Ukraine-style.

Richard Fleming

Image : Behance.net