Gazing

Bilal Saloo

Gazing, into this small window of time,
I see stories unfold on crisp pages,
I see beauty in this window of mine,
Butterflies escaping cocoon cages,
Bright eyed wings uncurl all in a flutter,
on the branch of the tree with the green leaf
Browning, drifting, crinkling, joining clutter.
Dear window, in mind’s eye, such a brief
journey, to glimpse a faraway place
I know not when I shall see once again,
or feel the cold pinch, the hot slither lace
down to the fingers, wrapped around a pen;
In need I am of the window I see,     
That gathers dust and is locked with a key.

Let Go

Sophie Patel

She walks the beach
To find her peace,
but a heavy weight keeps her at bay;
a rope around her leg attached to an Anchor.

Continue reading “Let Go”

Judge Yourself

Sahera Patel

The silence wrapped itself around me, smothering senseless voice,
Cocooning me in blissful calm from naked, nauseating noise.

Bitter envy clothed in praise, a blackened heart lauds acclaim.
Face to face sincerity, followed by disparity, blatant contrariety.

Continue reading “Judge Yourself”

The Commuter

Branches1221

Another ordinary day.
Sun is high.
Sweat trickling thru one’s spine.
It’s a long road.
Getting used to it but not quietly.
This boredom hits all of a sudden.
What’s there tomorrow?
Is there anything new today?
Clink!

Continue reading “The Commuter”

Not My Favourite Things

Jem Tovey

Auctions on eBay that don’t find a buyer,
Finding a nail in a nearly new tyre,
Those Facebook statuses with the word “blessed”,
These are some things that I mildly detest.

Continue reading “Not My Favourite Things”

Life

Sophie Patel

A life ends a new life begins
we smile, somewhere someone cries
we have, some have nothing
we eat, some have only dirty water to drink.

Continue reading “Life”

This Yorkshire Lass

by Rachel Dunn

This Yorkshire Lass is from Batley, a fact of which I’m proud

It makes me feel quite special, like I stand out from t’ crowd

It’s a shoddy town, that’s filled wi’ dark soot-covered mills

And my once young, spindly legs, ne’er cared much for its hills

Its folk are proper northern, and of the truth they ain’t afraid

They’re definitely the sort who call a spade a spade

As a bairn you could smell Foxes Biscuits, wafting through air

And a bag of broken biscuits you could get from any market stall on t’ square

On weekends I’d see me Grandma, she lived off Soothill Lane

She allus made me fat n bread and told me “not to be so vain!”

In never ending summers, we’d spend afternoons at cricket

I didn’t pay much attention, less Soothill got a wicket

In winter we’d watch snooker on t’ telly in black n white!

Or have pie n peas in t’ smallest café, by ‘eck that space were tight

Better still we’d go watch best team in t’ world – up hill at Mount

We’d stand there cold and frozen, at Ref we’d scream and shout

There ne’er seemed right much to do in me teenage years

We’d spend us time on street corners, drinking cider or beers

Suppose I started suppin’ young; it’d make a Social Worker shiver

Ah, it never did me no harm – though I can’t speak for me liver!

Hours of me mis-spent youth in the Vic at Hick

Playing songs on juke box, me money allus went too quick

Tap room filled with REAL men, downin’ pints of Tetley Bitter

No doubt their wives at ‘ome, makin’ Sunday Dinner

But those days have bin n gone and I’ve travelled far n wide

But a place as fine as Batley, well I simply cannot find

Though after all I’ve said, I should get to St Marys for confession

Cos I were born in Dewsbury, and me Mams from chuffin’ Wigan!

Three In The Morning

by Bilal Saloo

I like it when it gets dark

at three in the morning,

when the silence of blackness

is seeping and everyone is softly snoring Continue reading “Three In The Morning”