Poem: Accidental Haiku

If there was a word

That could cup the emptiness

Soft as coffee froth

Louise Soothill 

Poem: Stapled

Stapled

With the sharp slam of wood in the frame

your jeans clattered to the floor

like a small win on the slot machine

your arms, curved like a blade

tore at the vacuum- packed meat

that was stacked between your thighs

you stapled my hips to the mattress

forced your fingers into lace

I lay stiff as a dolly peg

and stubbornly let it slip

through wooden legs

you put my lips on mute

paused them

as you fast- forwarded

to the action

your body moving fast

with mine still on pause

your hands were ropes

with burning thumbs

a noose

around my blushing throat

toes stretching and dancing

for some stability

my body slid against your skin

like a deceived bird down a window

I dropped to cushioned grass with

wings spread.

Marie Staveley

Poem: Healing

Healing

Gazing up from the gutter with grave eyes

Stoops a tangle of torn stockings and scarred skin

Startled, I stop and flop to my knees

And acknowledge her humanity with a touch.

“Please take me away from L.A.,” she says,

“Hollywood’s horrendous, unholy, Hell.”

I need not know the details of deeds done

To desire to save her sin-bitten soul.

Together we stagger past six or seven Starbucks

To land on rickety stools of an Outreach Mission

Where she slurps lamb broth without a spoon

While I share crusts of solace with the homeless.

She’s given a place to rest her leaden limbs

And as a tear graces her scratched cheek

She insists that she should show her thanks by

Washing my feet in cloudless water.

Graeme Roberts

Author's Note: 'Healing' forms part of an acclaimed poetry collection which re-imagines the life of Jesus into present day America.  I am currently in the process adapting the collection to create a piece of poetic prose.  This will become the next instalment in my series of short fictions, Living Legends.  The provisional date for the release of 'Living Legends: Jesus Christ' on Amazon Kindle is 11th December 2013.

Poem: Camping in Autumn

The water flows further east

It always does, towards the forest

Where soil tastes of blood and

Fungi school and sit, big-bulbed

And brown, smiling across at us

Moss spools in cracks and

Hack shaped crevices

Your fine hairs rise as I stir at creamy skin

Socks balled by the ruffled duvet,

The glorious smell of oak

Louise Soothill

Poem: Gifted

Gifted

On my twelfth birthday, at the Knicks game

I saw Patrick Ewing drop forty on the Bulls

Before Michael Jordan rolled his left ankle.

Dad said I should sit still and let the medics

Do their thing, but I wanted to walk on

Court and heal my hero of his hopping.

Raging red, Dad grabbed me by the ass

And glued me to my front-row seat until

Scottie Pippen hit the buzzer-beating jump shot.

Back home, after we’d had milk and cookies

Dad took me into the back yard and beat me

Repeatedly over the head with stone tablets.

I bled from my right temple like a plagued Nile

And shed a tear for every loss that night.

Graeme Roberts

Author's Note: 'Gifted' forms part of an acclaimed poetry collection which re-imagines the life of Jesus into present day America.  I am currently in the process adapting the collection to create a piece of poetic prose.  This will become the next instalment in my series of short fictions, Living Legends.  The provisional date for the release of 'Living Legends: Jesus Christ' on Amazon Kindle is 11th December 2013.

Poem: Babe

I remember when you were

Just knee-high

Such a cute little thing.

The same eyes

Once shoulder-high

Sparkled like never before.

The same thighs

Don’t just walk

They talk

With wickedest whispers.

You think of me as

A childish crush

An older man

Still cannot touch.

Graeme Roberts

Poem: Learning

Learning

Uncle Joe taught me how to resurrect the fallen

Olive logs and forge of them loveless furniture

As I trusted no mask to protect from specks

Sawdust would collect thick on my chest

I used to flick flecks across the workshop

With hardened fingers which checked for knots

Customers came to watch us break our backs

Something in the method, the authenticity

Compelled to smell the abrasive blades’ sweat

And taste the sweet fruits of tiresome grafting

Joe told me not to contest the strange interest

Taken by mere mortals in making things

Sure, the awe-filled stares grated as I’d grind

Another drawer, grooving with an awl till smooth

But I bit my lip, let bitter notions settle

And conquered my seething by reading stories

Once rooted deeply in the unruined ground

Now bound but swimming with wit and wisdom

I’d take my new-found love to the temple steps

And admire the scholars’ tongues sharing songs

Joe warned against involvement with such men

Convinced they had no useful words to spread

Instead he said that we should cut some oak

And shape it into shelves kept for ourselves

He bought me books which offered other thoughts

The stronger ones I engraved onto my throat

To be given air once I had fully carved

My final coffin and watched it sink

Graeme Roberts

Author's Notes: 'Learning' forms part of an acclaimed poetry collection which re-imagines the life of Jesus into present day America.  I am currently in the process adapting the collection to create a piece of poetic prose.  This will become the next instalment in my series of short fictions, Living Legends.  The provisional date for the release of 'Living Legends: Jesus Christ' on Amazon Kindle is 11th December 2013.

Poem: Fishing on Crag’s Leap

Fishing on Crag's Leap

Scrambling over bony rocks

Maybe I am lost, folding

Between the billowing black of the sea

And damp footholds to my

Favourite fishing spot 

The gulls screech like thirsty

New-borns with crisp skin

Gulping at warm air.

Patches of weeds, a tender

Blood-green almost cause me to

Slip - how fast would I fall?

My fat body rolling

Down the crag face

All the time thinking

It would look like suicide

Louise Soothill

Poem: The Dreamer

The Dreamer

As you slept I kept my gaze on you

And tried to sneak inside your dreams

I crept my playful fingers up

Your back, its every scratch and crack

To stroke that strong yet tender skin

Must be a sin, my worst thoughts said

Or just the purest lusts of love

To pamper, please and plunder.

You stirred and stared me in the chest

On which you’d rest your weary head

And led me in my dreary daze

To drift towards our happy place

A place of wonder, free from woe

Where dreams together overflow.

Graeme Roberts