In between

by Kerry Hammerton

He rushes in.
In the crowded room he sees
only her. She sits with a glass of
champagne scanning faces for someone
recognisable, someone famous.
She still looks at him
but not quite
in full focus.
He feels let down.
At the end of the evening
he doesn’t remember what he has seen
or heard, all his senses consumed
by the press of her thigh against his.
Later she will plait his long hair
in preparation for bed. He will wonder
if she is thinking of someone else and
if now they have moved to an in between.
In between an almost leaving
and, somewhere in the future,
another arriving.

Let me get this straight

by Kerry Hammerton

Before we go any further,
before you fall in love,
before I fall in love,
before we fall,
get hitched, attached,
committed,

or whatever they are calling it
these days,

let’s talk about this right now,
let’s get this straight,

I may be young and pliant now
but those wise woman years
are just around the corner:

hot flushes
drying vagina
disappearing libido.

I may be younger than your ex-wife
(what was the reason she left you again?)
but soon I will be the same age

are you sure this is what you want
to sign up for?
are you sure you can handle the pace?

Slow Dancer

by Elizabeth Trew

flows abundant and mellow

intertwines the grape-vine
undulates the sky-line
inhales deep invocations
exhales polyphonic fusions
unravels her country

opens the quick-step
enters the flamenco
loosens the fox-trot
infuses the salsa
releases the rumba
embraces the marimba
unfurls the arabesque
celebrates the spring

slows, catches her gifts
sweeps the last dance down to the bass line
inclines on a grace note
ripples the ocean

Escape

by Candy Rohde

She lifts buttered moonlight
with her fingertips,
smooths it over the sea,
trickles her hands
over crumpling sand,
scatters her clothes
like weeds,
vanishes in an eau-de-Nil
pod of a boat,
paddling a dream
draped in smoke.

No Place to Run

by Candy Rohde

I hear a grinding brutal growl.
The land churns in a merciless
Armageddon as bulldozer
monsters strip the land.
Raccoons, hares, hedgehogs, field mice,
white-tailed deer, skunks, red fox,
black squirrels, cottontail rabbits,
line silent at the edge of the woods,
noses and flanks trembling, eyes dilated.
They rise on their hind legs
disoriented, beseeching,
like victims in a public execution.

Life

by Angela Prew

If, as they say, life is like a book
what sort of book?
Is it a history of events,
times, memories?
Is it a romance – stories
of love ending in
happy ever after?
Or, perhaps a tale
of adventure, of derring-do,
winning to the end against
all odds?
A comedy, maybe,
filled with light and laughter. Or
a tragedy with no happy ending?
Tales of battle, of endeavour
achieving – what?
Maybe it is all these things
encompassing
love, lust, loss. and death.
But for you and me
our lives are nearly over
yet together we are writing
Chapter One.

The ‘Ginconvenshun Bird

by Michael Keeling

If you look at the moon when it’s upside down
And the sun has gone to bed,
Right there in the space where bats should fly
You’ll see something glowing red.
 
This is the ‘Ginconvenshun Bird
That only flies at night,
The wrong way up and back to front
Keeping it’s tail in sight.
 
He lays his eggs in plastic bags
And ties them with a bow,
Suspended from the cliffs and crags
where you’re not meant to go.
 
But creep outside in stealthy mode
With your trousers on your head,
And with upside down efficiency
Follow the glowing red.
 
If it twists and turns then go straight on,
If it’s left then you turn right,
For wherever it’s going it’s coming back
As sure as black is white.
 
You’ll end up at the nesting site
As the chicks are hatching in.
Hatching out is convenshunal
But remember these are ‘Gin!

Moon in the Morning

by Pam Newham

Trapped by your sleeping
I lie early morning awake
and wait while the slow clock
slips its numbers by.
The window is winter-dark
and through it I see the moon.
Moon in the morning
trapped in the still dark sky
waiting for the minutes to slip by.

Keeping Boys Safe

by Pam Newham

Once it was glass on the beach
sharp side up
and bigger boys
on slides
and tartrazine.

But now its mermaids
with knowing eyes
and cell phones
who have their number

and there’s no saving them
from that.