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Poem – The coat of many colours by Helen Burke January 9, 2018

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Artwork by Helen Burke

I want. I want . I want a different job. Not this poet job.
This stupidity, dandy, nonsense.
I want to go in to work, do something
Useful , talk about rubbish , feel the end is In sight. Then ,
Go home , sit on the sofa
Eat a hamburger switch a light on and off
And call it recreation.
Have a phone call from someone called Smith ,
put the garbage out.
Go to bed and have not a single dream.
That’s what I want.
And when it’s Saturday I want to go into
Town and buy a coat, the sort of coat
No one notices, that in a crowd is swallowed
Up by the world.
And my hair to be innocuous and no one
To comment on it , or covet it or my coat.
And my words to be few and Spartan



Poem- Gentrification by Jade Blackmore January 5, 2018

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 Livable but slippery
Once red brick villains,
Now a horde of liars.
Vinegar tears from the old guard.
A concrete asp left over
from maladaptive days.

Protests fall on deaf ears,
A broken, lingering fear.
The mundane tapestry of day-to-day life
Shocked into submission by
The din of construction cranes
a permanently vacant building
Only the rats and spiders see their paper-thin but sustainable walls.

Laws were broken, then changed with the customary sleight-of-hand.
The lights go out
At the gymnasium where a one-eyed millionaire from the Valley
Tells bartenders and store clerks
How another luxury building will benefit them.
Homeless men raid the snack table
Then go down the street to sleep in front of the
Picture window
Framing a brand new, cobwebbed lobby.


Poem – Shinier Objects by Jade Blackmore December 7, 2017

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Shinier Objects

Cool and hip.
loud and obnoxious.
obscure, snarky and intellectual.
Academic and narcissistic.
And lacking in all protocol.
Edgy and underground,
Art fuck-y and self-absorbed.
Mix and match the adjectives with
Decades of faces and nothingness.
A parade of sculptures
With no discernible filling.

But tucked away in the corner
or maybe a few someones
forged a steady presence,
now neglected
for the wrong reasons,
for shinier objects
with nothing to offer except
eventual crash
and splatter.

They’re gone,
because like
they were too
pure for
you or
the barren, angry blur
the world has become.

They still exist somewhere
in a sliver of time and comfort
Back inside a cocoon
and unable
to defeat the
patina of lies.


Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Same October 22, 2017

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the same

the wreckage of a generation.
the good ones die early,
the evil ones fall like a house of cards,
the mediocre simmer and fade
to leave room
for the next generation
to perform
their version
of the same.

Poem by Helen Burke – What Becomes of Happiness? September 5, 2017

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What Becomes of Happiness ?

What becomes of happiness ?
Maybe there was just one day when you were happy.
Maybe you were small – 6 , 7 or 8 ?
Maybe you thought you had wings ?
Stood in your garden and planted a tree that a passing tramp had given you ?
Maybe you watched amazed as the tree grew in minutes and you
Climbed it , dizzy with the happiness of the day ?
The tree that wants nothing from you except that you climb it ?
Was that how it was ?

Maybe you sat up there, high , with the birds of paradise –
Saw what they saw, felt what they felt
Looked down on the whole world spread out before you .
Saw there were no shadows … maybe …

Maybe someone shouted then –
“Come on down now. Your tea’s ready . “
And you did , and that didn’t matter because
The tree would still be there after tea, just waiting for you.
And you climbed down, rung by rung , taking care not to damage your wings,
The leaves all the while whispering like lemon drops
And the scent of carousels and rainbows in your hair –
Just yourself in the crook of the day and the feel of those wings
And yourself with the sense to use them.
And all night and all day , you could go back out to that tree,
But you forgot it was there and someone said –
“A big girl like you doesn’t need wings. She needs to keep her feet on the ground.”
And maybe that’s how it was – until – one night ,
The tree could bear it no longer, and because it knew no shadows –
Maybe the tree began to sing , to call out to you
And knocking on your window came those birds of Paradise saying –
“Where have you been , my old friend, where ??”
And maybe you take your wings out from under your pillow
And trust once more to your feet in the dark.

And maybe that’s how the song that is happiness
Gets to sing in your life, all over again.


Helen Burke has been writing poetry for 42 years she also writes short stories, plays, comedy sketches and does painting and visual art.


Poem and Video – I Urge You by Anca Mihaela Bruma August 19, 2017

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I Urge You…

To meet me on the edge of the World…

There, where horologes grow their wings,
there, where distances ache our shoulders no more,
where the metronome dissipates our breaths no more,
and unbroken smiles do not grow…

The place… where… you cease to chase
The shadows of Worthlessness!…

To meet me where Eternity has lost its clock!
Where dreams live, unmutilated by tears,
so we can find each other
beyond banal bleached days
of senseless sceneless seasons,
where I may still taste the aroma of your morning eyes,
a Time and Place where I may cease to remember
how my roots were stolen from me,
and I may strive no more within the molasses
of mundane monotonous equations,
and require no more Mathematical solutions
of… this LOVE!…

I urge you to meet me
at the place where answers lose their questions,
with no maps or recipes to touch the Heart,
where words cannot shatter my hearing
and Time is not crammed inside a dusty lost note.
Meet me where the verb “to cry” is non-existent,
no walks on nameless maze of streets –
Instead, arched inside a hypnotic butterfly’s leap.

My Love…
I drew my Eternity under your eyelids,
words lost their senses,
past the borders between our thoughts,
just an additional pulsation for you….
to love me, insanely, without restraint.

No more random rusty routines,
Only… the Mirage of our cosmic Co-Existence!


Anca Mihaela Bruma, 31st December 2016

Copyright (c) 2015 by Anca Mihaela Bruma, All Rights Reserved, except the right to forward and to share with friends – with credit – which is held to be a good idea and is thus encouraged.

Poem by John Grey – The Breaking of the Drought August 11, 2017

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The rain is, at first,
like giant’s spit.
a few drops on the window,
a couple on the roof,
and then a half-hearted volley
that scatters its rat-a-rats
across the parched soil.

But then that giant
switches on his sprinkler system.
There’s no great force
behind the drops
but they slip into a welcome routine,
follow one behind the other.

But the big guy’s not done yet.
He starts emptying out his wells
and the sky is a grey melee
of a million tipped buckets.

Before long, the land is soaked through
and the word “drought”
is as forgotten as yesterday’s pop star.

But that giant likes nothing more
than to light his fire when he’s done,
sit down before it’s huge flames
and smoke cigarette after cigarette.

It’s the same giant.
Despite praise to the contrary,
there is no other.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Front Range Review, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Abyss and Apex and Midwest Quarterly




Megalomaniac – Poem by Jade Blackmore July 30, 2017

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Everyone else is a laughingstock,
Buoyed by the clutter of a premiere page.
Caffeine boost, internet drone.
A human statue, so cryptic and cold-blooded
More exalted than
A dead comrade
Or new girls and their selfies.
So untouchable
In her salty square corner of the world.

Raising the Bar – Poem by Jade Blackmore July 29, 2017

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Raising the Bar

The ruins of a never-ending last call.
65 going on 19,
a frat-boy with too-thick eyebrows,
a woman with a shattered glass meth voice
Everything is free and easy
Or it’s not worth the effort.

The survivor realizes too late,
but drives away
from the long black expanse
of wasted years
toward reinvention.

The Tomorrow Drug – Poem by Helen Burke June 29, 2017

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The Tomorrow Drug

Do not rely on the tomorrow drug ,
The drug that “says” Everything will be allright then .
But rather – the drug of today , sip that –
With its “yes we’re working on it , and “Let’s see how it goes.”
“ Never hang your hat on the drug of yesterday –
When things were just so , and I recall This thing and that thing
-Ah – everything was so fine then .
-Stick to the medication of NOW , and NOW again –
-It is all we have.
-All the rest is an illusion in a clockwork mans head –
-See where he rests his weary bones. –
-And the minutes crawl under our skin –
-Like forever



Helen Burke has been writing poetry for 42 years she also writes short stories, plays, comedy sketches and does painting and visual art.