Daily Archives: September 20, 2015

. another dress . by Sonja Benskin Mesher

I am not a silent poet

is quiet just the radio yet,
and did i hear the water
run next door.

i drew the dress yesterday,
with the pin

the dress that is hardly there,
and very there.

it must never fade in memory,
so i have fixed
the dirty marks and smudges,
the hurt and pain.

and pinned the badge


dress 2

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I see People by Joe Horgan

I am not a silent poet


I don’t get it. I don’t see it. Refugees? Asylum Seekers? Migrants? I don’t get it. I don’t see it. I just see people. I just see men and women and children. I just see people, people just like me, just like you. I can see their eyes, their wide eyes and their hair and their arms and their legs. I can see their faces. And I just see people. I just see men and women and children.

I was in a car with some people the other day, some Irish people of a certain generation. One of them was my father, a Kerryman whose mother raised him in Cork alone, despite a priest’s advice to have him and his brothers taken into the caring embrace of the church. After serving in the Irish navy he looked around the Ireland of the 1950s and decided the only chance of making…

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Joanne Key

Writers for Calais Refugees


A drowned boy drifts
into my living room.
He’s here now by the fire.

I roll him onto his side,
recovery position,
turn the heat up,

try to warm him.
At night, he opens
the door on the sea,

darkness floods in,
down the chimney,
through open windows.

It follows me
upstairs, laps
at my ankles, rises.

The boy stands
by the side of my bed,
dead eyes

watching for nightfall,
waiting for the raft
of the moon

to coast over black water.
He waits to catch
the tail-end of a wave,

the boat of a dream
that will carry us both
into another world,

into warm arms,
wings and flight.

Before I turn out the light,
he smiles,
hugs me goodbye.

The last thing I hear
is a foghorn drowning-out
voices as they ring

in the distance.
I toss names
into the mist like coins,

wait for…

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