Christina Coates

Papa

He envied the world –

the world and the eternal earth .

I carried a pebble
in my pocket –
a keepsake for you.

My word, a small grain,
a granule in my hand.
Language and rhymes were
a way to sustain you.

It was a long voyage –
my breath the tides
looking for you
down a dead-end street.
I look – a mere eye
just eyes looking past.

I thought I heard
a quiet laugh
but it was just an echo
of emptiness.

You never found us –
the place
or the moment
like a wave.

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Jean Green

Always the eyes that look
back from the earth.
One becomes a dead-end street
That’s all.
Love fades.
Leave behind the photographs
and look away from the past
for it is of nought.
God loafs so much
yet it is He who made
And speaks for the world

Yvonne Romano

Looking
(a re-cycled word poem)

looking’s a way of breathing in the present
a moment when  earth’s long voyage is almost done

forgetting, recording, the eyes dig and burrow
keyholes through bones to the statue’s stone heart

my eyes are soft arms holding you in their lap
around you and your world they whisper their language

looking takes a new way of seeing the invisible
I look . . . and my eyes touch the echoes sometimes

Ruth Mattison

Look

The eyes look, eye out
Nothing is visible, present
Can’t breathe
That’s bought a dead end street

I look
My breath earth blue
A wave of being
My death a moment
That’s not only collapse
But time and You.

God looks
at my soul
We touch and speak
That’s the garden where She is

Ruth Mattison 2009

Ruth Carneson

Killer Cop

Killer cop
Cape Argus
May 29 2009
Allowed to Visit
Kids Graves

Two daughters in a mist
His son, rainbow streaked
His wife, a prisoner of war
His marriage, cracked
But heavy enough

Several factors
Over ripe
Granted him
A fire stick

Three counts
5 years old
21 months old
16 years old
Spirit water
Shot dead

His actions
The saddest requiem

Karen Brooks

Feathered into Space

Screams from the womb
feathered into space
my breath, away from its place,
the earth, piles sand in a dead end street

walking around by the thousands
the eyes, two slits, sometimes small arrows
the brain and the heart looking through
the sight that builds, the sun that shines

my heart, the statue with a door.
hucksters selling, writers digging
walking and looking. the animals
bite, come down, but mostly
I look at the baby that sustains looking.

Penelope van Maasdyk

Peddling Severed Parts

Looking takes everything
Fits their souls
Sometimes
A baby sniffing soft arms
The pebble rolled of sand
The eternal
Small grains assemble
Eye out cliff’s fissure
Little suns
Can’t breathe
When the moment spits them to you
Little sun
Leave behind hucksters selling god
But at last yourself be.

Beryl Eichenberger

Pebbles of words

I own my words.
Like a pebble
rolled in my hand,
round and proclaiming
is my word, digging
into the hill, planting
its smooth time,
a fragment of the earth.
Little world they whisper,
sleepy caves own nothing
even the grain of sand
sifting, owns nothing.

Looking, walking, being
takes back the soul.
You were island, country,
it was from you always.

In my hand,
I roll my pebble
to a small grain of sand.
My words a granule
I own.

Maire Fisher

Through the  blue

He craves this tomb,
a granule of being around heaven
where nothing is – no body
But looking still
takes an earth-blue shape

And
always the birds by thousands
the world holding its place.
Their music comes down
and round and into the sleepy caves
planting little grains of gold.

Shutting away from breathing now
the air moves back.
The eyes, looking through the blue
speak silence – that’s all.
The heart opening and shutting
unlooses the centre and collapses.

In this time after visible present,
he stands in the nought and  owns nothing.
All soul now, walking,
walking the eternal eternal.
Eyes opening – and look.
The past, the world –
everything fits in it and  fades away.

Nada Lagerstrom

I

like eels
eyes walking

the skull
the birds
the tides

but He
takes one
to sustain
the Earth
and collapse
its brains

but He
visibly present
found us
proclaiming
other way

and never
even
sitting
to smoke

one becomes
world of being:
all soul

II

all soul
world of being
but He
found us sitting
eyes walking
the skull
the birds
the tides
like eels
but he
proclaiming its brains
to sustain
and collapse
the earth
even takes one
to smoke
one becomes
visibly present
and never other way
III
one becomes all soul
visibly present
world of being
and never other way

but He
takes one
even to smoke
the earth, the birds, the tides

but He
found us proclaiming the skull
its brains sitting

like eels eyes walking