The Penitent Ring by Charmaine Thomson

Ne

me

quitte

pas, he sings

feeding the breadstick

To the young woman opposite

Wasting time with father time, mesmerized by his hands

The bared throat and sling backs say, I don’t mind, you are still young at heart.

At the next table it’s all about the marina

with vain traces of a lush life.

But it is too late

For this dress

and this

gold

ring.

Equilibrium by Charmaine Thomson

I

can’t

find it

anywhere.

Equilibrium:

completely annihilated

The sinful wreckage of wardrobe survivors burning

Colliding in three dimensions

Beating gravity

Holding back

until

it

stops

Arohata by Charmaine Thomson

They stripped the hills bare

Leaving only the compound

stretching for the sun

The pines held the prisoners

And played them muted

lullabies, chasing the past away

They left the clay banks

Unfinished and untidy

as an added punishment  

Arohata is a women’s prison in Wellington, New Zealand.  Arohata means “the bridge” in Maori and indicates a wish to provide a bridge between past offending and a future in the wider community.

Sinner Sinner by Christine Anne Borra

I am a sinner of great degree
I wish to list my sins for Thee

But where I start, its hard to know
My life You said is like driven snow

So you see dear God do you need to hear
My list of sins said loud and clear

I think you should in all Your might
Know the sins I committed alright?

For what is the purpose that I must bestow
To You my sins you already know?

And how on earth will an earthly prayer
Miraculously make sins disappear

So it seems the act of contrition be
Less about You and more about me

Amen

The Gardener by Christine Anne Borra

roses show and mingle, clipped tight against
the white steel frame of the old wire fence
nurtured from unwanted sticks, like children

across the worn driveway crimson petals spill
announcing the end; their bloom brief and delightful
as their moment ends, another competes for place

the gardener administers brutal love as she cuts
and trains, the vase of life for a while is full
until the last petal falls exposing her work

now vulnerable arms stretch from mature roots
unsure and naked they face the harshness of winter
are they strong enough to endure the elements of life

the coming winter has stripped them bare to the waist
it is useless to cry for their lost youthful beauty
so they grow thorns upon thorns of protection

forgotten for now; they will lie dormant
until the burst of new life brings them back
to the notice of the gardener, to marvel again

her handwork, her legacy, pruned to create perfection

TUESDAY by John Smallshaw

It was Tuesday late in the day when we met

and raining so hard we were both soaking wet.

I talked to her like she was an old friend

And I realised soon I didn’t want this to end.

So I said “fancy a coffee “ even though it was late

She grinned and said “shall we call this a date”

And we talked as we walked and it got really late

So I said “let me walk you home,at least to your gate”

We got to her house and she said “coming for a drink”

“Yes please” I replied I didn’t need to think.

The evening passed to morning we laughed and we joked

And saw the new day dawning.

Then we kissed and my heart missed a beat

Then we kissed again..a double measure..neat.

Her lips tasted of the morning mist and once again we tenderly kissed

And undressed as the Sun’s rays hit the counterpane

and I knew I’d never be the same.

I kissed her eyes,her neck and ears

It nearly brought this grown man to tears.

She whispered “don’t rush just take your time

and you and me will make each other mine.

If I ever thought that I wanted to die I now know for sure

that this was a lie.

She made me want to live

She made me want to give

and after when we felt just so..her cat jumped up and bit my toe

But we laughed and began to touch and I wanted her so much.

Then later over a cup of tea

She said “ does that mean you really like me”

“Yes” I said,”I really love your feet and my heart skipped another beat

I love the way you sway

I love the things you say

Your nakedness is branded on my brain”

My heart was racing like a train.

She smiled and said “ I like you too”

I said “ I want to make love with you”

though I’ve not had too many lovers she took me under her bedcovers

and heavens did she make me moan and yell

By doing…

Well a gentleman just doesn’t tell.

Then the bell went clang

The telephone rang..I opened my eyes and to my surprise

I was alone in my room..it might as well be a tomb.

Just another wet dream though for a while it did seem

So so real..

So so good …
but then I suppose it would.

The Turtle and the Stone by Asa Boxer

The turtle moves as slowly as he does,
because he desires to be counted
among the stone-cold, the rock-solid.

The turtle moves as carefully as he does,
because he wants to live forever
and somewhere in his amphibious brain,

the longevity of coral, the persistence
of mountains and boulders have impressed
him with their stubborn immobility.

The turtle is but a step away from stone,
and he hopes, each day, to slow his pace,
to approach, within a fraction, a dead halt,

and thus come so near death as to learn
the secrets of eternity, and strike the deal
struck by stone.