When the sun burns too brightly and everything is rinsed dry,
The sparks spreads like gossip around an urban school gate.
Trees have lost their speech, stand silent witnesses to all.
Everything is going out, not in a two by two procession,
But in a rip of tooth and claw, flashing beneath a flame’s roar.
Everything is dwindled to ash, and rising isn’t a promise.
We do not always come back to the places we need to be,
The wheat grows thinner and the salmon do not leap.
Pain rises gently with the dawn, inviting, before it blinds, again.
– Ali Jones
Ever Upward
“As the deer pants for the water, so pants my soul for You, O God.” –Ps. 42:1
Remember when running with the deer
Was sufficient?
When carefree
Innocence
Was not frowned upon?
When fleeing a fire to safety
Seemed a success?
Now, it’s not enough.
Once the world caught fire, it became
Inadequate to simply run.
Neither is it,
To stay
Staring helplessly
Into its flames, watching
Our global future go up in smoke,
Filling the air and our lungs With all-consuming dread.
But the spirit, too, is a flame,
an ever-changing,
constantly-lapping, bespoke
Force, striving upward
Against gravity.
Away from fear, yes.
But towards?
Towards also:
Towards health;
Towards clarity;
Towards restoration;
Towards the well-spring of life itself.
-st
A Salamander’s Wool
Asbestos lobs my dad in the fire
to see him survive the scientific method.
Flames burn up all his oxygen,
fat slips off him. There is no rotted
log for him to escape consequences,
a miraculous lizard scarper from hollow and heat,
a life born from flicker and burn,
misconstrued into myth and legend.
Salamander’s Wool inside his lungs
left in his ashes a whiter remains.
-Paul Brookes
Monsters
I always thought that burning
would be the worst way to die,
scorched and consumed
by mother nature’s rageful side.
In my dreams, rage is spattered in red
and monsters are made of flames,
throats of fire that swallow heartbeats
and pull the skin from trees
with voracious tongues.
Some nights I wake up screaming,
flames engulfing the stars and blossoms
that decorate my wrists.
Some nights I survive the fire,
marvel in the new breath of flowers
that rise from the ashen earth,
wake up feeling resurrected,
weightless and laughing.
Some nights, I don’t sleep at all.
-Susan Richardson
Amazon
The antelopes are parched and pines are scorched;
The mother Zebra cries and canines howl,
tiny insects are dead and homes are burnt.
but all they want to know, who started the fire.
-Jay Gandhi
Bios and links
-Jane Cornwell
likes drawing and painting children, animals, landscapes and food. She specialises in watercolour, mixed media, coloured pencil, lino cut and print, textile design. Jane can help you out with adobe indesign for your layout needs, photoshop and adobe illustrator. She graduated with a ba(hons) design from Glasgow School of art, age 20.
She has exhibited with the rsw at the national gallery of scotland, SSA, Knock Castle Gallery, Glasgow Group, Paisley Art Institute, MacMillan Exhibition at Bonhams, Edinburgh, The House For An Art Lover, Pittenweem Arts Festival, Compass Gallery, The Revive Show, East Linton Art Exhibition and Strathkelvin Annual Art Exhibition.
is an award winning, internationally published poet. She is the author of “Things My Mother Left Behind”, coming from Potter’s Grove Press in 2020, and also writes the blog, “Stories from the Edge of Blindness”. You can find her on Twitter @floweringink, listen to her on YouTube, and read more of her work on her website.
is a teacher, and writer with work published in a variety of places, from Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry and The Interpreter’s House, to The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. She has a particular interest in the role of nature in literature, and is a champion of contemporary poetry in the secondary school classroom.
is a Software Engineer by qualification, an accountant by profession, a budding Guitarist & a Yoga Sadhak at heart and a poet by his soul. Poetry intrigues him because it’s an art in which a simple yet profound skill of placing words next to each other can create something so touching and literally sweep him of the floor. He is 32-year-old Indian and stays in Mumbai. His works have appeared in the following places:
An ebook named “Pav-bhaji @ Achija” available in the Kindle format at Amazon.in The poem “Salsa; a self discovery” published in an anthology motivated by Late Sir APJ Abdul Kalam. The poem “High Caloried love” selected for an upcoming book “Once upon a meal” The poem “Strawberry Lip Balm” selected in the anthology “Talking to the poets” Four poems published in a bilingual anthology “Persian Sugar in English Tea” Vol.1 Two poems published in the anthology “Poets on the Run” compiled by RC James.
His poems have made it to the PoeTree blog and front pages of PoetryCircle.com & OpenArtsForum.com. In free time, he likes to walk for long distances.
is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook:Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)
is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.
I felt like my last post was a bit self indulgent and pity party-ish. so to make myself feel better, I thought I’d write something that deals directly with the COVID-19, Coronavirus Pandemic and the importance of recording the everyday.
I’m a journal writer; a diary keeper, I have recorded my everyday life on and off since I was about nine years old. There are whole years in which I didn’t record anything, and although I aim to write a page in my journal every day, this doesn’t always work out. First rule of journal club is self forgiveness, if you were wondering. If you make it a chore you won’t stick to it, so don’t make it into a chore.
Why are journals and diaries important?
History is written by the people in charge. This isn’t necessarily because their opinion or their…
My friends say, it’s all in your head.
I tell them about Halloween ’85.
A bunch of kids cornered me,
kicked me around like hacky sack
and spat at me when done. The hot streak of saliva still burns,
I say. And they say, That’s just kids being kids.
I tell them about the teacher
who said I was a disappointment
to my people.
I was failing classes after
a letter from Cambodia announced
my father’s death.
My friends say, Some teachers are
plain ignoramus.
You’ve got to be more positive.
Change your attitude.
I think about their small high schools
where teachers
showed them how to argue in circles,
gaslight an opponent.
I tell them so,
and they come back with, This is America.
It doesn’t matter where you go
to school. You can make something
of yourself through hard work. Go to the…
“BE LIKE THE BIRD who, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing she hath wings.” Victor Hugo …
Keeping our spirits up: it’s not about blind optimism or heroics. It’s practical. It’s about protecting our autoimmune systems. Fear, anxiety and stress compromise our physical health whether or not we are immune-compromised. In doing our best to maintain our physical and mental health we remain asserts in this pandemic, people who don’t – at the very least – add to the systemic health crisis burden – and who can be available to help our families, friends, and communities. Do your best to find joy in this Monday! Celebrate the gift of life and another day. Celebrate the lives of those who have left or are leaving before us. They and you are valued. Love…
Little one, my first friend. I named you for a story, the 1950s volume,
my mother brought out like a surprise every
Christmas – Belinda, my rabbit.
all nose twitch and whiskers,
and power kicks when least expected.
Sometimes you would romp the garden,
tunnelling in the flowerbeds, excavating borders,
looking for an escape route, like that other story rabbit.
You always put up a fight
when we cornered you, guilty among the radishes.
One morning you left a surprise.
It was clear you had been to the ball,
no longer a stay at home, minding the hutch,
tending the run in envy
while your wilder cousins danced out by the full moon’s gaze.
Your prince wore a red fur coat and a special smile,
and I like to think there was a wild kiss chase,
where like Rhiannon, you didn’t stop –
not until he asked nicely.
There was no glass slipper, just ears
as a memento, placed beneath my favourite apple tree,
A lucky paw, unlucky for you,
dropped under the mulberry like a charm.
Little one, I never replaced you,
but I keep your power – always unexpected.
-Ali Jones
Flora and Fauna
Held captive
As
You gaze,
I wonder
How long
This will last.
Your friends, and my own
Rest silently
Nearby In some lush meadow,
Where, surely,
Soon I’ll join my ancestors In the earth,
To spring forth
Again; feed your young, Or dress a table.
When all is lost, loss offers new gains.
-st
I promise
to shower you with daisies,
keep you fat on petals and love.
I promise to hold you
close to my heart when you feel afraid,
whisper soothing words
into your ears,
stroke them gently.
I promise to share my secrets,
to lavish you with affection,
even the parts of you that are worn.
Especially the parts of you that are worn.
I promise to lock sadness in a box,
hide it on a high shelf so you never
have to see how much life hurts.
I promise to open the gate,
release you into a field
of sunflowers,
and remind you every day
that you are home.
-Susan Richardson
Honey Bunny (children’s poem)
=========================
The bunny scrambles with a rose,
hassles towards the valley and goes
to meet his lover waiting from long.
She’s jittery, livid and headstrong.
On reaching bunny bows on knees
and offers piece of cottage cheese.
Declining food she turns her back
and bunny gets anxiety attack!
Next up he gives her sugar ball.
and tiny effort hits the wall.
Then finally he gives the rose.
The happy lady jumps on toes.
She kisses bunny on his lip—
He smiles; all went as per the script!
-Jay Gandhi
Escaped
I am caged, cooped up, kept in.
He pokes freshly pulled grass
and leaves through the thin wire.
I am bigger than this prison
he cleans occasionally
whilst I hop about the garden,
Explore escape routes, test fences
and garden walls for weaknesses, before
I am grabbed, cuddled and imprisoned again.
One morning he will find the door hanging
by one hinge after I have busted out.
One morning he will cry because I am free.
-Paul Brookes
Daft Buck
Boing !
That thing that makes bulbs burst ;
flowers bloom.
That primal tingle,
as yer loins swell.
Ask the birds – ‘What makes them sing ?’
Brings bud to shoot, fruit from everything.
“It’s Spring –
Can’t you tell ?”
The early bird, distracted by the worm
gets pinned
by a hedge-meadow hunter
silent on the wing.
I’ll give it a minute before goin’ art ;
Preen me fur into a fetching ruff ;
Tek me mind off beak and claws.
“Eyup Doe,
have a look at this beauty”, he lobbed.
“Grew it myself over t’ winter.
My dad had 4900 kids
proper grafter.”
Its a F-word
Fecundity
Douglas Adams said we’re genetically blessed,
but that’s only half o’ t’ game –
yer need gift ‘t gab to charm the bunnies.
Or cunning,
I leave a tasty Dandelion –
distracts ’em just long enough.
Short-term memory yer average Rabbit.
Not me, super-intelligent –
Watch QI most nights through Granny’s window.
You have to lip read.
Rabbit gossip’s a bit samey ; grazing and bobbing.
It’s a day job, but this –
is a special assignment from Gaia
a gift from the goddess ;
Queen of passion and desire.
“Oh, I love Spring, me !”
“Excuse me, madam
my forleleg doth shake.
Aye, it’s Rent-A-Ride . . .
Fancy a nibble ?”
“It mek’s thee feel a million dollars !”
“You can ‘av it on tick
I’m a lover and a fighter
Aye, it’s as long as its thick
Yes luv, It does mek yer feel lighter.”
“All you need is a docile temperament and to stop still –
What d’ya mean, ‘you don’t know if you will’ ?
Go round t’ back of the queue
I’ve a lot on wi’ all these frisky fillies to do.”
Three hundred degree vision
I’m grateful for these eyes.
Oh, thy are cute
innocent like
wi’ a nose like an hot-cross bun
dappled white-brown
soft as a chick-down.
You’ve never met a buck ?
The Romantic beginner –
You can spot ’em a mile off
Green as the grass but they soon catch on.
I stifled a laugh, doffed me cap,
slid down both braces.
Just watch the birdies while I do t’ work ;
twitch in all t’ right places.
And she said,
“Are you hungry ?” “Vet says I’ve got Myopia.”
I’m thinking, Myxamatosis.
And I said,
“This is gonna open thi’ eyes.”
-John Wolf
Bios and links
-Jane Cornwell
likes drawing and painting children, animals, landscapes and food. She specialises in watercolour, mixed media, coloured pencil, lino cut and print, textile design. Jane can help you out with adobe indesign for your layout needs, photoshop and adobe illustrator. She graduated with a ba(hons) design from Glasgow School of art, age 20.
She has exhibited with the rsw at the national gallery of scotland, SSA, Knock Castle Gallery, Glasgow Group, Paisley Art Institute, MacMillan Exhibition at Bonhams, Edinburgh, The House For An Art Lover, Pittenweem Arts Festival, Compass Gallery, The Revive Show, East Linton Art Exhibition and Strathkelvin Annual Art Exhibition.
is an award winning, internationally published poet. She is the author of “Things My Mother Left Behind”, coming from Potter’s Grove Press in 2020, and also writes the blog, “Stories from the Edge of Blindness”. You can find her on Twitter @floweringink, listen to her on YouTube, and read more of her work on her website.
is a teacher, and writer with work published in a variety of places, from Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry and The Interpreter’s House, to The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. She has a particular interest in the role of nature in literature, and is a champion of contemporary poetry in the secondary school classroom.
is a Software Engineer by qualification, an accountant by profession, a budding Guitarist & a Yoga Sadhak at heart and a poet by his soul. Poetry intrigues him because it’s an art in which a simple yet profound skill of placing words next to each other can create something so touching and literally sweep him of the floor. He is 32-year-old Indian and stays in Mumbai. His works have appeared in the following places:
An ebook named “Pav-bhaji @ Achija” available in the Kindle format at Amazon.in The poem “Salsa; a self discovery” published in an anthology motivated by Late Sir APJ Abdul Kalam. The poem “High Caloried love” selected for an upcoming book “Once upon a meal” The poem “Strawberry Lip Balm” selected in the anthology “Talking to the poets” Four poems published in a bilingual anthology “Persian Sugar in English Tea” Vol.1 Two poems published in the anthology “Poets on the Run” compiled by RC James.
His poems have made it to the PoeTree blog and front pages of PoetryCircle.com & OpenArtsForum.com. In free time, he likes to walk for long distances.
is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook:Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)
is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.
Photo by Alina Vilchenko on 
Courtesy of Mark Stoop, Unsplash. 
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