REDEMPTION

Written by: Keith Bickerstaffe    
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Redemption

Twilight's blessing. 
Soft shades kiss the meadow lands 
adrift in blissful silence. 
Windows glow like welcome beacons 
hailing ships on storm-toss'd oceans 
sailing safe to harbor's rest, as villagers 
repose, so soon to sleep. 

At the edge of town the church is still. 
Strangled gravestones mark in mute remembrance 
struggles of an age gone by. 
Ivied walls and crumbling steeple, 
signs of venerable decay, where kinfolk meet 
to greet their Gods and beg forgiveness 
for their many indiscretions.

A haven for the wealthy and the ne'er-do-well alike, 
it welcomes differences of race and creed. 
All worship embraced in its sheltered precincts, 
all sinners accepted according to need.

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The lost soul

Written by: Robert Broadbent    

The Lost Soul



Lost and lonely,

Wandering….where?

A cold misty darkness,

Filling the air,
Outstretched hands

Beginning to pray.

Feeling my way,
I cannot see,
Praying to what?

But darkness and gloom.

Praying to whom?
Nothing is here,
I try to scream,

Only the silence,

To wail and to shout,
My fear increases,
No sound coming out.

My heart cries out,

The terror, the mist,
My body is gone,
I do not exist. 
In anguish, despair,

Wandering….where?


Lost and lonely,


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Love's Echo

Written by: Cynthia BuhainBaello    

Read Poems by Cynthia BuhainBaello

Love's Echo

Your voice in echo haunting me

Whisper words that resonate,

They call in dreams persistently

And speak of Love that Truth negates.



You grayed  the sunshine from my days,

For you were gone before the morn
The faded Trust was never born

Oh such comforting release!
These tears remind me that always.

If Sleep would come without a dream,

Your echoed Love, please speak no more,
The gentle Silence sings it seems
Of songs that drown your voice with ease.


When my heart knew of no great sorrows.
Accord me rest and new tomorrows!

Mute that voice just like before

Making history

Under stone gargoyled arches

as grey as faded time

stand the petrified of marches

who forced the hands of time

On slate their craven names

are carved as Saints and Kings

with texts dictated kindly

so only praise our history sings

Beneath new erected scaffold

modern masons chip away

un-knowing of the monsters

they’re bringing into play

Last night

Last night I saw you - still young, turning your head

so gracefully, and laughing - robed in light;

as I, on dream's soft fabric gently tread,

while stealing slices of sleep before daylight.

What was this hazy world? the uncharted land

of final sleep, of neither space nor time?

where we'll watch clouds, and every grain of sand,

until the waking bell of dawn does chime.

The trees no more would lose their leaves; no more

would birds depart for warmer climes, when we

together here will sit for evermore,

and happy to escape life's troubled sea.

We'll hear dreamcatchers tinkle, and incense smell,

and hear the waves, and watch their gentle swell.

Failure

---

Written by: Sheep Aneki    

It's best not to feel
It's best not to love
It's best to be alone
It's best to be gone

No matter how much you try
No matter how much you cry
Eventually, you'll die
From too much pain inside

Tried to be happy
Tried to be positive
Yet people do not see
The efforts you give

It's best to be no one
It's best when you're done
Because people do not care
Because people are not aware

It's best to stay hidden
It's best to not show up
It's best if you lied
It's best to stop

AN OLD FOOL.

(A post St Valentine's Day lament?)

There is no fool like an old fool when it comes to romance;

if he gets a glance from an attractive female half his age he

thinks he's in there with more than a ghost of a chance.

But what has he got to offer? A life time's experiences is no

defence. An abundance of pounds and pence will make more

sense to recompense the object of his desire for the smell of

liniment and Listerine mouthwash throughout the house.

And if he was like a well known dead celebrity comic, getting

her to fellate him after he'd doused his genitalia in eau de cologne.

I'm the King of loneliness on my lonely throne; I've just spent

my XL number of Valentine's Days unloved and alone.

But am I bothered? Not now that I know there's a world of

opportunities out there for the highest bidder. Now all I

have to do is win a serious amount of dosh so I can go after

the type of posh totty that I've always yearned for. One with a

brain like Sylvia Path and the libido of Katy Price. Together

we could have nice times and a laugh afterwards. (Mind you,

Sylvia was never known for her sense of humour was she?

Unless you regard her biting into Ted Hughes cheek till it bled

as funny? Fellatio's definitely off the menu.)

Now all I need is a psychic sidekick on side to give me next week's

winning numbers for the National Lotto.

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