The Walls Speak

Mohammed Barber

From left to right
The walls speak,
Speak with anger
The voices who have
No pen nor paper
But walls, tunnels, and trains

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Bench Poets Natter to Successful First Season

The Bench Poets have had a successful first season promoting ‘Happy to Natter’ benches across Kirklees.

Benches are used every day by thousands of people to have lunch, read, or just pass the time. Often, people sit in silence or by themselves, but a bench is more than just a place to sit. It is a powerful tool to bring people together, even if it is just for a moment. This is the principle behind the ‘Happy to Natter’ benches initiative from Kirklees Community Plus.

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Raise The Bar

Marie Niland

Sad, empty eyes told the story,
Of a heart so very lost,
Who had searched the land for answers at every given cost.
Never finding a connection,
Always hatred & rejection.

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Who Begets Greatness?

Fehinti Ojelabi

Is Greatness for all?
Is it for the rich or the poor
is it for the small or the big?
or not at all?

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A Game Of Two Halves

Jem Tovey

You don’t need to drink from puddles to thirst for fresh, clean water,
You don’t have to suffer homelessness to value bricks and mortar.
You must experience bondage to free yourself from slavery,
You must learn to hate addiction to truly love sobriety.

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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.

The Soldier

Eleanor

The soldier stood there as sad as a gloomy day
He didn’t know what to do at all, or what to say
He closed his eyes and wished to be home
Instead he was wishing all on his own.
As guilt flowed through his head for killing others
He tried protecting all his brothers.
Every head of the soldiers was burning hot
All of them were scared of being shot.

Home

Alf

The sun reaches through clouds scattered across the vast Southern African sky, as though announcing the arrival of angels, nourishing my starving, sleeping soul. strands of white heat touch cold orange sand and a lizard pauses to absorb the dying day. The Continue reading “Home”