FIELD OF DAISIES
Jackie Summers
I dreamt I met everyone I ever knew
in a large field where daisies grew.
And some of you were visions blue
and others more a vibrant hue.
You brought your stories and read your poems,
some were sad and some were bold.
But here is where the dream took hold:
Moonbeams and butterflies
and teardrops of dew,
sunshine and rainbows and star gazers too.
Night time darkness, rattled on skeleton places,
souls on fire and pagan faces.
All sharing your secrets,
expressing your views,
in a field full of daisies
all sung to my muse.
WHAT IT TAKES
Math Jones
It takes, sometimes,
An effort to love.
It takes, sometimes,
An effort to know
You are worthy of love.
It takes, sometimes,
An effort to know,
To be sure, to believe
You are loved, more
Than loved.
Then Take it.
Take it. Take it.
BLOODY HELL
RON RUNEBORG
Down the valley, past the river, near the field where nothing grew,
scattered bones gave silent witness to a last attempted coup.
Thousands perished grasping freedom,
thousands screamed as bullets flew.
Thousands mourned the fallen heroes, murdered by the chosen few.
Hear the trumpets blare in kinship, ringing notes of modest means,
shouting down their concertmasters, interrupting old routines.
See the fires of discontentment, recreating Dante’s scenes;
Madmen stand atop the rabble, censured by the in-betweens.
In these sands downtrodden people raise their voices to the sky,
fend off whips and words of menace, capture dreams in short supply.
I can only lend my stanzas, honoring more brave than I.
I will sing your song of freedom, may you live it by and by.
OLIVER TWISTED
A GENRE PASTICHE
GLENN JAMES
Charles Dickens usually found himself to be a quite well disposed ghost, but much to everyone’s surprise, he was marching through the writer’s haven in Paradise with an unusually thunderous frown, tugging at his beard.
Offers of honeydew and the milk of paradise went un-noticed, and he strode past H.G. Wells and George Orwell without even noticing their cheerful salutation of good morning. Something was on his mind and he needed advise, so he sought a wise soul.
He pulled up a cloud next to a thoughtfully distracted figure with a bald pate, who was beavering away over the summer rep season, and sat down so hard that several cherubs scarpered, and it caused a short and unexpected rain of Hazel Nuts over Newport Pagnel.
“Hmmmmmmm.....” went Charles, sourly and with emphasis.
The two had known each other for a good 130 years, and the other writer smiled knowingly. “Oh Dear,” muttered Dickens friend without looking up, “That doesn’t sound good. Whatever is the matter?”
Charles dug something out of his pocket and slapped it onto the table, “Have you seen this?”
Want to read more.....?
