Rainbows Unbounded by Ceinwen Elizabeth Cariad Haydon

I am not a silent poet

(after Langston Hughes, I, too, am America)

You are pale, you are dark,

You are coloured in-between.

You are man, you are woman

You are proudly gender fluid.

You are gay, you are hetero,

You are bi, you are asexual.

You, too, are America.

You praise gods, you are agnostic,

You are new age, you are orthodox.

You are Asian or Mongolian,

You are African or Caucasian.

You are Latina or Latino,

You are Japanese, from Reno.

You, too, are America.

 

You are city folk or farmers,

You rated Bush or Obama.

You voted red or voted blue,

You like the old or like the new.

You love the South or love the North,

You wondered what DT was worth.

You, too, are America.

You are old, you are young,

You are healthy, you are ailing.

You read, you watch TV,

You are wise, you are flaky.

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Don’t Let Us Die by Stephen Jarrell Williams

I am not a silent poet

Please

don’t let us die

we that are starving

in all corners of the world

 ..

we have our dreams

butterflies in the air

with a full tummy

before we sleep.

Bio-

Stephen Jarrell Williams writes and draws late into the night, watching out his window for the Coming Good Dawn.

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Everything we worked for is at risk by Maya Horton

I am not a silent poet

It started in childhood. That low hum

of disapproval at our parents’ mistakes. We tried

to tutor them in a humanity they wouldn’t understand.

Sacrificed shiny-shoed futures

to make art in run-down houses, underground bunkers, drink

cheap wine around trashcan fires. We fell in love,

grew up – in vegan squats and railway carriages – dogs

on strings. Saluted the sun, that solstice-pink sun.

And now, there are armies (or will be), and bombs.

Now there are others – obeyers – with drones. Now

they will round up the sick and creative. Our

minimum-wage jobs? The first to be cut.

Outsourcing. Empathy is a chain –

with it, they will choke us, bind us. Throw us aside;

one day we will long for those trashcan fires

woodsmoke and starlight,

those childhood nights

spent tip-toeing around a passed-out parent.

We were supposed to change the world, weren’t we?

We were supposed…

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Bara Brith/ Sonja Benskin Mesher

Fry Your Friends

quiet day, plenty to do,

workwise.  no home brew

involved, yet he came to

my door smiling.

holding

a bara brith.

to share, he said,

cut it in half,

I shan’t come in,

my boots are  quite muddy.

there is a fete in the

village, sue won’t eat it,

so I thought I will spoil

you.

they soak the fruit in tea,

and alcoholic drinks

if they have any.

isn’t it heavy?

Sonja Benskin Mesher RCA UA

www.sonja-benskin-mesher.net

www.sonja-benskin-mesher.com

 www.sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk

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