Progeny

I was not meant for motherhood,
not with these sharp edges
and a predilection for sadness.
I am a cog in a genetic footprint
that left a web of darkness
behind my eyes,
planted seeds of cancer in the
delicate bodies of my mother
and my brother.
I am the progeny of rage,
of battles with the bottle and carbohydrates.
There is a cruel streak
that runs through the caverns of my veins,
racing against the frenzied connections
that dictate the rhythm of my heart.
I was not meant for motherhood.
My touch is not one that nurtures,
my voice not one that soothes.

-Susan Richardson

Bridge Of Sighs

I am heart fire,
the blue flame.
Hold my mirror
in your other hand.
See reflections,
look for shadows.
There are no others here.

I please my buddha soul,
always now, forever.
I squeeze my other finger
I feel no pain.

And when I form,
it will be
to open my eyes,
world wide and bright.

I see all my lives now,
stretching back far
as a shuffled deck.

An ancient game.
There are no others.
Only me, only now.

I am a clean soul,
not yet writ.
Pink, no trace
of any original sin.

I seek a passing time
to hold against my brow.
To age my wounds
against the wounds of others.

Only too soon
will I be human again.

– ©️ Dai Fry April 25th 2020.

Childhood Amnesia

She paints emotion on the skin of the tender,
And its elder.
Tucked between pale folds,
Where life dwells

In touch and scent,
And calmness.
All newborns know this.
Why must we forget?

-st

Dyad

Nobody told me it would be ok,
All I’d heard were horror stories,
Of selves subsumed beneath
Mountains on laundry and mess.

Nobody told me it would be ok
To want to hold you all the time,
That your cries would not jangle
Nerves, that I would ask, what

Is it that you are trying to say?
Nobody told me how much I’d
Miss the small bundled body
As you stretch a decade, onwards.

-Ali Jones

Fingerprint

Zen garden raked
curved plough crests
ceiling design

Tiny lamb’s hooves gain purchase
in grooves, gust worn cracks
on a high rocky mountainside,

little fingers like stones caught
in the raked valleys of a Zen garden,

a tiny baby grasps Mam’s finger edge.

Soft skin, hard mountains drip milk
when pressed by lips.

-Paul Brookes

Platinum

All the clean waters join
Ganges — clear & pristine.
People worship the river
for its pureness. Only
other thing untainted
is a child suckling—
milk full with nutrients,
antibodies, reverence
and unconditional love.

-Jay Gandhi

Bios and links

-Jane Cornwell