Night Shift By Asa Boxer

The owl skirrs for mouse
and in his gut, he turns her
inside-out. The bat weaves

through the criss-cross trees,

wings upon her sonar pings
to trap the bug and feel him sing.

Owl, wise anatomist, studies

the tissues, then spits the gist:
the shag and bone of what exists.

And bat, dread acrobat, flips

the forest upside-down, and all
the creatures underground,

the shrew, the hedgehog and the mole

fall out like rattled soldiers
from their tunnelled holes.

The Sisters of Murphy by Asa Boxer

When I’d no juice left, already cried uncle,

at rock bottom, looking for comfort;

one loosened upon me her furious craw

of indigestibles, another arrested me with guilt.

One, laser-eyed, hurled an ashtray

full of ashes flicked through a night of waiting-up,

while another re-enacted, in voices and postures,

a play to catch the conscience of the king.

If you’re sedentary, loyal as a dog. If you must

stay where you’re unwanted, a family man…

these Sisters will make a raging sibling of you,

and Brother with Sister, conceive Monsters

of Murphy that bring alive the broomstickand

hobby-horses of your cowboys-’n-indians.

It’ll take the nurse, the nanny and the marm,

those generals of the schoolyard theatre, to disarm

your horse-play. They’ll tell you that, however dressed,

sticks are not horses, hearts are not wood.

They’ll grumble that Murphy tied the blindfold on Love.

Attend to the broomsticks. Attend to each room.

The Sisters of Murphy will be visiting soon.

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