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COLLABORATIVE POETRY
BETWEEN THE BIRDSONG
Cara Holman (US)
Kirsten Cliff (NZ)
crescent moon
two cats sleeping
back to belly
seeing the breath I blow
to keep my hands warm
patchy sunlight
windfall apples
in the compost heap
a toppled pair
of muddy gumboots
below the tree house
the leaves I raked yesterday
already scattered
side by side
watching the sun ease
behind the mountain
*
solstice
the weatherman calls
for more rain
in my dream
the snowman wins the fight
departing year
moss and lichen
cling to the maple
no mail today
a taste of woodsmoke
on the wind
I stir some more carrots
into the soup
fog lifts
from the stream
wild ducks in flight
*
plum blossom petals
a shiny penny
on the sidewalk
at the dentist's office
I'm given a new toothbrush
spring break
the long line of cars
to the beach
morning rainbow
pegging out laundry
between the birdsong
the swish of my broom
across the deck
grapevine tendrils
the newborn colt's
first steps
*
serenaded
by the sound of crickets
hot summer night
I straighten my hair
for the party
lingering awhile
under the awning
the scent of roses
dairy herd
the bull lies in shade
under a willow
sweat beads
on my ice tea glass
cloudless sky
two joggers turn around
at the road's end
ALL THE WORDS THAT MEAN CANCER
Kirsten Cliff (leukemia)
Cara Holman (breast cancer)
raging rain
trying to forget
my nausea
pages of questions
for the doctor
leaf-fall
finally having
my head shaved
hornet's nest
she says I'll feel
a little sting
a sense of safety
in the ward's routine
discharge day
a tumbleweed blown
by the breeze
*
summer again
the dress I wore
to hospital
this maple leaf's
thin veins
night sweats
a spider-web caught
in the wind
tranquility garden
the scratch of a rake
on gravel
a wall covered
in “get well” cards
dragonfly tails
she hands me a rose
at the finish line
*
another medical test
the thumbed pages
of this poetry book
cancer clinic
I silence my cell phone
faded bruise
a hot air balloon
on the horizon
finding my voice
the blank page
fills with words
a stray cat meowing
in the parking lot
dragon pose
my daughter tells me
to stay strong
*
the beating
of my heart
heavy moon
pre-op
my threadbare gown
all the words
that mean cancer
blackbird song
kaleidoscope
a dizzying array
of options
restless
he holds my hand
deepening rain
waiting for feeling
to return
FOREVER HOME
Kirsten Cliff
Margaret Dornaus
decorating our first home
our forever home
with photos of travels past . . .
will I ever explore the beauty
of these landscapes with you
that couple
wrapped up in each other
like children
playing statues, never
growing out of love
crumbling brickwork
echoes across the canal . . .
with every bridge
I renew my faith
in a boundless sky
twilight
eucalyptus frames
the horizon . . .
a distant lover’s arms
fuel my night with fire
still showing me
the blessings of survival . . .
an ancient oven
and a stone wheat-grinder
in this deserted city
Sunday best . . .
the aged man takes a turn
around the plaza
at the end of his leash
a dog won’t budge forward
the angular roof
beneath marshmallow clouds . . .
an old Chocolate factory
enveloped, even now
in the sweet breath of summer
lobster shack—
one letter missing
from the sign
perhaps no one is ever
completely welcome here
lost
in that deepest green . . .
the mountain alone
has left its imprint
on my psyche
High Street
a convex mirror reflects
the memory . . .
an ocean’s ebb and flow
the rhythm of the moonlight
Haiga by Maya Lyubenova
THERMALS RISING
Claire Everett
Autumn Noelle Hall
first fruits of the climb...
the jewel colours of her lap
cloud-shadows
of blackberry stain
on the face of the mountain
wingtip to wingtip
above the dragon’s spine
ravens ride the wind
the same that scours rock from soil
and bends the tundra blooms
sung by mountains
this crescendo of silence...
the gong of the lake
still shimmering
from a swallow's wing
celtic knot-work wrought—
by swift pivot of pinion
are fates written...
moth lost in a burst of dust
but oh, how high he flew
stain on my fingers
the dust of unsmudged charcoal
is smut in the wind...
a sharp intake of falcon
breath of the crag
lapis lazuli
the realm of the Sky God
with kohl-smudged eyes
his name writ in cloud glyphs
his leather jesses, unbound
we stack our gold
beneath gunmetal skies
whip-cracked silence
the Thunder God
opens one eye
out of pity
lightning rips the darkness
into day
and dazzled, we wander
across Elysian Fields
late summer
in a field of gold
swaying towards me
with bread, still warm
and cider from the press
COUNTRYSIDE STROLL
Frank Williams
Doreen King
countryside stroll—
along the shaded bank
small bursts of yellow
a bird’s nest
with baby ribbon
at the country fair
an angus bull wins
best of show
the entry in her book
smudged by a “happy” tear
***
with drink in hand
I sit on a patio chair
staring at the moon
water in the pond
soon down to a quarter
in a full shoebox
all John’s love tokens
carefully wrapped
lovers’ tiff and the dog
gets an extra bone
exposed by a landslide
an unknown fossil
on the cliff face
she joins a mystery tour
to escape from her world
the small black cat
lost in snow
meows loudly
carol singers singing
somewhere out there
waiting
for a lung X-ray
weather forecast
three buses arrive
one after the other
misty moon
she tip-toes
in silver sandals
hung in the bare tree
a cobweb full of dew
***
after rain all morning
a rainbow appears
over the village green
forest the colour
of the year’s best day
hidden from view
a display of blossoms
for the rabbits only
no need for a top coat now
showing off my new suit
Composed via snail mail
Started: 10 May 2012
Finished: 23 July 2012
DRAGON BONES
Jane Reichhold
Giselle Maya
on my knees
at the start of the new year
dragon bones
where will they carry me?
where will we go?
beneath the surface
of a blue-green lake jewels
that will not fade
Smaug undone
by a single arrow
lords and rings
the audio book CD
of dragons
what a relief from the wars
on everything google
boneless
the first creatures
floating in water
they had a heart but how
did bones come into being
raindrops
drying on the porch boards
in puffs of white
my house body speaks
of what I have forgotten
bone marrow
silently renewing itself
at the deepest source
secreting the body’s élan
helped by the waxing moon
cat howling
wrapped around my ankles
another log
added to the wood stove
he settles back into dreams
how do you know . . .
I feel it in my bones
it is marked there
eclosion of almond blossoms
the swallows annual return
the yard full
of fat balls of feathers
quail bones
shaped by the swirls
of tossed birdseed
breathe
into your bones
we hold out our arms
fingers stretched far
to absorb the morning sun
a bridge
arching over collar bones
the necklace
carries me until I give
it on to someone else
a tiny leaf
caught in the amber bead
of a necklace
green memory encased
in petrified tree sap
the tie that binds
our memories of a day
in one heart
still touching the other
that no longer beats
where do we find
all we have written
in our lives
flying from night
into day with the sun
January 2012, year of the dragon
A DRINK OF SAKE
Helga Stania
Ilse Jacobson
(translation Helga Stania)
judicious time
uncovering roots
in the garden's labyrinth
morning light touches
the almond tree of van Gogh
lotus pond ...
a drink of sake
for the turtle
opened
under vines
West-Eastern Divan
swallows chasing
through Ravel's Bolero
Venus of Hohle Fels
headless
... and we dream
EIN SCHLUCK SAKE
Helga Stania
Ilse Jacobson
besonnene Zeit
im Labyrinth des Gartens
Wurzeln freilegen
Morgenlicht streift
van Goghs blühenden Mandelbaum
Lotosweiher ...
ein Schluck Sake
für die Schildkröte
unter Reben
geöffnet
West-östlicher Diwan
Schwalben durchjagen
Ravels Boléro
„Venus vom Hohle Fels“
kopflos
... und wir träumen
WILD HORSES
Claire Everett
Autumn Noelle Hall
flash of moon
your wild horses
bare their teeth...
these invisible reins
that hold my tongue
how deceptive
the distance from peak to peak
the valley’s vastness
a good day’s gallop between
my words and what I mean
this darkest tide
breaking ebbing swelling...
murmurations
on the wings of starlings
all the words I cannot say
a bobbing dipper
fossicking in the stream
for something choice
among my myriad thoughts
might not one be given voice?
the willow bends
to touch the river’s sound...
deaf to me, will you
put your fingers to my lips
and feel my soul’s song?
the river bends
coursing in that downhill way
of all weighty things
yours, the hand to pull me from
the gravity of silence
so many years
dropping stones into a well
of silence and yet
in the heights of you, my words
cast full-circle rainbows
aquamarine
reflecting in the water
a circle of sky
gaze with me into these depths
my story, yours to scry
an Atlantic
of blue sky between us
your night, my day
one cloud's fleeting cameo...
you, the other side of me
waves of words
washing back and forth
between us...
splashing on the strand,
these wild horses, running free
SHADOW HUNTING
Jan Dean
Julie Thorndyke
the road is long
the river wide, the sky high
no need to fear
life has many favours
when the wind is at your back
in this cave
there is no hint
of frost, sleet or gale—
the fire heats my toes
and sends stories to tell
fireside fingers
with wiggling toes cast shadows—
the first cinema
was a screen flickering
animals on a stone wall
horned monsters
shriek in the moonless night
she stokes red embers,
traces charcoal figures
of hunter and prey on limestone
little remains
of their victory dance
beneath rubble
tangled hair, a bone gnawed bare
but thrills of a kill linger
sounds of footsteps
sliding over loose gravel—
a reptile skin
dry and curled
too large for any snake
muffled drumbeats
send warnings near and far
ignored by sly ones
a cape of scales comes forth
on the beast of prophesy
lightning comes
as if by his command—
this night, children
pant with fear, women
look over their shoulders
few understand
why men and women rise
again and again
to defy their fate, leaving
torn petals, squashed seeds
castaways
on this voyage of life—
together we may
travel even further
than we have dreamed
BLUE SKY LEAPING
Rodney Williams
Patricia Prime
above a sea mist
the promontory’s peaks ...
pink heath in bud
spring sun rises from the east
blue sky leaping over the hills
down the tor
a waterfall
rainbow
river gone underground
we walk in the dry gully
below brambles
a child’s yellow gumboot
in dried mud
father and son, elbow to knee
comparing tracks left by birds
at sunset
black swans in flight
paired for life
like a gold medallion, the moon
pendulous in the night sky
falling leaves
wood pigeons
drunk from berries
staggering home arm-in-arm
their songs off-key down the street
full to the brim
a storm-water gutter
blocked by a dead cat
turning to Sudoku, I fill
in the squares with numbers
PICKED UP
Claudia Brefeld
Gitta Hofrichter
fresh mould
at the ball of the boy—
the spade cuts deeper
cobwebs – in the window corner
grandpa‘s cleaning oil
detached by wind
her grey hair—
windfalls picked up
falling jasmine blossoms
carry home the scent
in the apron
tango – rock turns
on sheet of music
between wool socks …
she slips over
the garter
RECLAIMED FIELDS
Rodney Williams
Patricia Prime
perfect concrete curves
spanning slopes thick with ferns . . .
a bridge to nowhere
from misty tidal flats
settlers sought this isolated
no-man’s land
their hearts sliced in half
for those they had left behind
authorities
listening too late ~
forest reclaims fields
crisscrossing
the pioneer’s trails
a turkey vulture
Haiga by Fred Flohr
AT THE ACADEMY OF ARTS St. JOOST,
Jacques Verhoeven
Silva Ley
rooms full of maquettes
time shrinks to mo(nu)ments
the eternal grass
sounds enlarge the expo
small ideas hitch on
corridors shoot off
in wide white halls
neo roman pillars
a flash fires from the body
a town grows at your feet
abbeys, churches, factories
renewed for living
buildings built in
the past is slowly sinking
a daily shift of gears
^^^^^^
thousands of hands
driving lines and paper sheets
colours give winks
laughing school - summers
though freedom was blocked
heads between fists
talents thrown away
learn to walk again
deep hunger to beauty
loneliness in groups
an empty party tent
new public appears
wild ducks in the pond
rules, the pious steps
burst out of tightening
long distances of dance
the utter tips nearby
the moon lays shadows
museum nights whisper
swings from the ceiling
needles with long threads
tips of revelation
a hundred brushes
types, woven on dresses
abstracted costumes
a sudden row around
this screaming world
pandemonium
jeans-boys’ performances
prematurely wise
^^^^^^
high-tech office buildings
rough oaken beams
the roofs well supported
these tiny inner courts
jewels of the brains
video images fly
viewers’ eyes run after them
outside, the wind lies down
far in the fields a border pole
this campus, nearly limits
individual view, but sifted
each picture claims personal truth:
believe what I see!
days, months, years
stammered decisions
left memories
experiences saved up
happiness but painful
empty walls be mastered
dozens of quick strokes
eye contact on photo’s
the prisoners redeemed
arcades, light and high
a corridor to deep landscape
printed on gauze nets
‘We love ice cream’
‘to be’ the only game
wear paradise birds’ dresses
noisy visitors, hot arguments
the display cools its spectrum
^^^^^^
a new start, unexpected
one swipe of the paint knife
chances for the empty sheets
greeting merrily again
crossing each other’s stories
photo’s, video’s applauded
winners careless students again
take their flowers home
digital or by hand craft
let vision fuse contradictions
no drops were wasted
infinite possibilities
picture of humanity
increase of scale not to turn
newcomers at the front door
Breda, The Netherlands 03 -07 – 2012
At The Academy Of Arts St. Joost, located in a former Seminary, surrounded by woods and gardens.
Final candidates show their artwork and graphic designs in renewed, light halls.
SPRING KASEN
Vasile Moldovan: 1, 5, 10, 14, 17, 21, 26, 30, 33
Marianne Kiauta: 2, 6, 9, 13, 19, 23, 28, 32, 34
Maxine Bracher: 3, 7, 12, 16, 18, 22, 25, 29, 35
Dick Pettit: 4, 8, 11, 15, 20, 24, 27, 31, 36
Valentine's Day—
the florists already sold
all the bouquets
the haystack shrinks
our horses forced to fast
photo - a pony's eye—
now riding past daffodils
in memory lane
the convex mirror
shows a curving high street
dragging leisurely,
the shadow of a cloud covers
the Moon Mountains
bowed down caringly she chats
with her daughter on the phone
"There were swingboats
in the horse-fair field—
'all along down along'.''
a pensioner stops
to let the boys rush past
her toothless mouth laughs
when she tucks in her doll
with the table cloth
at the latest fashion show
a mannequin in rags
her dress swathes her
like El Greco's Christ in the Temple
none can resist
en route to Church, the priest
carries her on his shoulders
on the pillow
my hair scented with incense
the moon too
wheat ears flutter
in the morning breeze
with papers and phones
commuters ignore
their traveling companions
as he reads by the window
lighter shades frame evergreen
let's come out
in the cherry orchard
at the Flower Fest
young girls wear polka dot bows
and butterfly clips in a row
between two banks
a world of uncertainty
and pimples
still wearing his suit
on the meadow walk
instead of a ring,
he sets on her finger
a dandelion stem
she is scared by a herd
approaching the river
frost flowers
diminishing to tears
on the window sill
shop girls view the busy square
through steaming cups
lichen grows
a setting for each cobble
the young wife scrubs
today at the stone quarry
the workers came out on strike
a crane driver
leans back in his seat
and opens another beer
out-of-season holiday home
the dahlias look thirsty
cloud cloaks—
she does not see her dog go
into the stubble field
among the faint quinces
the shine of moon
uncertain shapes
in the shadowed doorways
around the courtyard
the safety light switches on—
a thief or the neighbour's cat?
power failure
in the whole blockhouse
a very silent night
stepping down the stairs
her dress so light, so graceful
after she left
he pruned the lilac
which blocked his view
a fine display of blossom
waves in the neighbour's garden
DEAD CANDLES
Claudia Brefeld
Martina Heinisch
in the silence. . .
no one calls him anymore
by that name
gusts of wind whirling leaves
around dead candles
...near the elm
Christmas
without her
cold snow air
his own footsteps
come his way
stone carver atelier
an apprentice chisels - gnomes
twigs from her grave—
warming tea
between the hands
SCHLAFLOS
Ramona Linke
Helga Stania
Das Ungesagte
zwischen uns und dem Mond
dein Lavendelduft
langsam verblassen
die Farben des Regenbogens
Poetry Slam
Worte spalten
die Nation
nach der Kernschmelze
Vögel finden kein Futter mehr
Tierschicksale*
im Hotel -etwas gr. Abstand- das Zimmer
neben dem Brautpaar
schlaflos in Sevilla
Semana Santa
die Mandeln blühen
letzter Halt:
Reifenpanne
über lauen Lüften
wandert Saturn
Sochumi ...
der Geschmack von
Matachelahonig
*
nach dem Tanztee
Haut an Haut
langsame Schritte
des Enkels
helfende Hand
seit Tagen Schneesturm
die Geburtstagsparty fällt aus
Silvester allein
ruhig löscht sie
einen Namen
letzte Klausur—
der Spickzettel unauffindbar
höhenkrank
am Chomolungma Umkehr
zum Basislager
Nebelschleier verlieren sich
auf dem Grund des Sees
raschelnd schwebt Laub
durch das Licht
der Himmelsschale
junge Bäuerinnen
binden die Erntekrone
---
*Tierschicksale - Gemälde von Franz Marc, 1913, Kunstmuseum Basel
SLEEPLESS
Ramona Linke
Helga Stania
the unspoken
between us and the moon
your scent of lavander
slowly fading
the colors of the rainbow
poetry slam
words rive
the nation
after meltdown
birds cannot find food
The Fate of the Animals*
in the hotel our room
next door a bridal pair
sleepless in Sevilla
Semana Santa
almonds in bloom
last stop:
flat tire
beyond gentle breezes
Saturn passes by
Sochumi ...
the taste of
Matachela-Honey
*
after tea dance
skin to skin
slow steps
the grandson's
helping hand
snow storm for days
no birthday party
New Year’s Eve alone
calmly she cancels
a name
final exam—
the cheat sheet
untraceable
altitude-sick
on Chomolungma turning back
to the base camp
veils of mist vanish
at the lake's bottom
rustling leaves float
through the light
of the celestial bowl
young countrywomen
twining a harvest crown
---
*The Fate of the Animals* - Franz Marc, 1913, Kunstmuseum Basel
KATIKATI LANDING
Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime
silver-grey lichen spreads on boulders
the duck's wake forms a vee
drifting downstream a tail feather
from the shelter trees birdsong
speeding towards town the mobility scooter
against the silence of the river, radio waves
from the landing, sound of a siren
a picnicking couple share their newspaper
midway along the hills ~ clouds cruise
winter clothes limp on the backpackers' lines
silhouetted, the perfectly groomed seagull
splashed with raindrops mosaic table top
BONES CREAK
Bambi Steiner
Jane Reichhold
old tin roof
with every weather change
creaking bones
sun-dried tomatoes shrink
seeming to be older and wiser
fresh swiss chard
learn to love the abundance
bitter tasting
at night in Death Valley
the view of salt flats
trekking by the stars
footprints left behind
in moon dust
the camera I always wanted
a Haselblad left behind as junk
worm holes
in fallen leaves
perfect tears
crying her heart out
a new space for compassion
unable to delete
the e-mail of her death
my fondness for him
waltzing hand in hand
field of daisies in the wind
neighbors’ talk
tales of when the sun
came to earth
soft summer haze
inhaling wildfire smoke
the howling
a frosty halo around
the moon
football jock loses the game
his girl dates another
bad luck
it comes in threes
and fours
what are the odds?
first love at first sight
Japanese
cherry trees flowering
California
scattered across spring grass
dewdrops become prisms
childish laughter
bursting many-colored
Easter eggs
one of the many holiday rituals
how your Dad hated them all
again and again
the one god resurrects
his own member
our lives as a religion
yet to believe in ourselves
intensely green
even the plants know how
to eat sunlight
bite into an apricot
feel juice on your chin
wide smile
revealing all the mystery
between her thighs
the Olympic diver
wins gold and hearts
sharing a taxi
she finds his hand
in her pocket
the karate class announcement
school begins to be important
vicious gossips
still the moon child
smiles inwardly
kicking at the fallen leaves
I decide to turn over a new one
bare trees
loving this time of nakedness
and the desire to dance
winged seeds cast to the wind
grass blades bend back to earth
the horoscope
charted 25 years ago
touches me
born again this spring
the virgin rises from her bath
at any age
the cherry tree in bloom
is a bride
bone white petals
drift to the ground
Started – July 21, 2012
Finished: August 21, 2012
The Booming Sea
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime
uncertain weather ~
in the cut glass vase
artificial flowers
He vacuums her living room: a piano sonata plays. He mops the entrance-way; a discussion about New Zealand opera. He scrubs the shower; can’t quite hear the distant strains. Puts soaps and cleaning agents back in place, bucket and cloths rinsed, Electrolux in the cupboard. See you next week.
the rains come down
still he waits for
the audition
The house stands on a hill, a deck overlooks the town, and from the living-room there is a panoramic view of the ocean. Hours have been spent in this bright space where the note of a red velvet chaise-lounge bursts among the oak of doors and paneling. So alive its colours – the black half-Persian cat, silver candlesticks, a stream of vivid paintings on the wall, dark green curtains, glass-fronted bookcases – set alight by the clarity of the crimson couch.
It’s difficult not to feel happy in a place saturated with colour and light: days spent walking the hills, watching fishing boats approach the harbour bar, finding a lane that leads nowhere and the curious, tactile sofa.
on the rocky shore
fossicking for driftwood
the sculptor
Between the booming sea of the distance and occasional crickets, this silence in which questions rest, stresses dissipate, worries laugh. It’s the silence of life, deep and wonderful.
tea steeping ~
a new poetry book
open on the table
The First Badger
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime
Saturday 8 a.m.
the sacred helicopter
flies by
The distant bass of a chord sounds in the vast blue sky like a bar of music repeating in the inner ear. The lonely sound of the rotors awash in the heavens, unseen now but heard in its deep burr, composed of equal parts of childhood memories of droning bombs and V-2 rockets and nights spent in an Anderson shelter waiting for the sound of the all-clear.
On one occasion, when I couldn’t have been more than two, mum and I were out for a walk when we heard a V-2 cut out. A policeman grabbed us and shoved us into a nearby police box. It was one of those old-fashioned blue boxes like the Tardis in “Dr. Who.” When dad returned from army service in Germany he told us the rockets were called Vergeltungswaffe.
evacuation
Mickey Mouse gasmask
too big
family reunion
a new baby sister
in mum’s arms
I was the youngest child. I never got the belt and was allowed to roam free, even at night. My siblings thought I got away with murder. I used to walk home at two o’clock in the morning, age fifteen. Three miles, including the shortcut which meant walking up a steep hill for about half a mile, the narrow road edged by swaying, creaking trees. I was scared, but relished the fear. It was a test I put myself through often. I reached the track around the clay pit, off limits, officially, but no one ever ventured out of the hut at that time of the night.
in the moonlight
a rustle, the glimpse of
my first badger
plough sound
the late worker
sips a beer
RED STILETTO
Jann Wirtz ( Host and Hokku)
Alan Summers (Sabaki)
Susan Shand (Scribe and tutor)
Cathy Richards
Fergus Rougier
Frances Corkey Thompson
Pat Marsden
Marie Dullaghan
Fiona and Sebastian ( age 9) Jackson
Leticia and Megan Welmers
Charlotte Duggan
in the wet grass
a red stiletto:
yesterday’s wedding /JW
the woman reduced
to shades of grey /CR
i hide in the mirror
as flies buzz
in dusty rafters /FR
a roar in the distance
races towards me /PM
through the stones, one dandelion
on the podium
the gold medallist /MD
beast on a cave ceiling
touched by human hand /FcT
the beat in our feet
brings down
sacred thunder /CR, MD
Mario Luigi moves
Ki on Dosa /SJ, FJ
robot box head
going viral LMFAO /LW, MW
would the legal disclaimer still stand
if I recover? /CD
girls will be boys
when they have no choice /AS,CR,LW,MW
mist blanketing the hills
cold beach pebbles /PM
Composed at Broomhill Art Hotel,Muddiford , North Devon
On 8th July 2012.
INDIGO
Alan Summers
Susan Shand
Jann Wirtz
Marie Dullaghan
Cathy Richards
Mike Keville
indigo nights
weave summer rain
into Bradiford Water /SS
purple stemmed Hemlock
bow to the flow /JW
we all talk
about bread and cheese
around the table /AS
chiff-chaffs
live on the edge /MD
catching me unawares
the Poacher’s Moon
pushes and pulls /CR
she gives the pumpkin
starry eyes /SS
exchange of looks
rooms
in the same corridor /AS
( for newly weds Ellie and Steve)
white rucked sheets
sweet Nag Champa drifting /CR
in Thamel market
bright bangles, diesel
and buffalo dung /JW
so much blood
on the Pearl Roundabout /MD
fox tracks
passing by
the snowman /AS
they wait for Mr Tumnus
in half a ring of lamplight /JW
The House divides
to a clamour
of jeers /SS
honking geese
and brickbats /AS
two rows of five
on the moving bar
down vodka shots /MK
a ballet rehearsal
in the critical mirror /JW
Sister Wendy’s
habit of explaining
Post Impressionism /SS
we order cheeseburgers..
hold the Spring Onions! /MK
bumble bees heavy
with crab apple nectar
still work the blossoms /JW
sewing seeds
in the sculpture gardens /AS
Composed in Broomhill Art Hotel Sculpture Gardens
On July 7th 2012.
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