Don’t leave the dandelion growing through concrete the broken windows birthing stars the puddles magicking their rainbows the new skin smiling under scars the tags shouting loud in the underp…
Source: Catherine Ayres
Don’t leave the dandelion growing through concrete the broken windows birthing stars the puddles magicking their rainbows the new skin smiling under scars the tags shouting loud in the underp…
Source: Catherine Ayres
Poems To Survive In
Source: The Fat Damsel
Cross It seems the outs want in; that they thought a vote to leave would have no impact. They thought they’d pencil in a cross and still remain. That someone else would protect their status…
Source: Susan Jane Sims
Sheila-Na-Gig online publishes well-crafted free verse poetry. We especially seek poems with excellent imagery and a strong sense of voice. Please submit 3-5 previously unpublished poems as …
Source: Submissions
Opening the Iron Gate my feet trace a path round silent ponds, through black stands of blasted trees rumbling from the smoke of winter’s war flinging out naked branches tipped by the solstice sun. …
Source: Second Cease Fire
It overlooks the village pond where cattle once drank deep, rising white it calls to prayer beneath a bell that summoned; called children to the school. Our feet trace theirs through lanes; up the …
Source: St. Thomas Aquinas — Ham
Poems To Survive In
Source: The Fat Damsel
Flames that lit the skies over towns
for years – the beacons viewed from
railroads, ships motorways are due
to dim, snuffed out by edict from
unskilled, unaware hands,
flames that mark towns where
bright steel sings its song of skill
in oratorios with notes fine as cutlery,
deep as the Shard’s supporting girders
sweet as the tracks the train I recall.
It built the planes, tanks, ships that
kept us safe from enemies’; icons
of our past whose children still protect
us from unknown terrors still,
and hide within structures speeding light.
Now these towns and men who know
no other way of life will dim as the flames
are damped, the men close the last gate,
and we are left to feed on fickle money
guard our shores with cypher gilts
and handshakes while others laugh
as we build, sell at their decree
at the folly of the dying flames,
men who sold our skills for fame
cyber gilts and Starbucks.
Between now and nowhere, I float. If only I knew to swim I could face the raging waters, reach out to the shore. If I drown, could you snatch pearls from my clenched fist? Some…
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