Marshal Gebbie

Feb 15

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Tell the loved ones, how much you love them,
waste no time, and it's no shame
because if silence, steals your word
it may be lost, and never be heard.

Don't defer it, to another day
what you feel, immediately say
we don't know tomorrow, what's in fate
it's too far away, it'll be too late.

If you willed, know it to be true
it's easy to say, I love you
when you hesitate, high will be the cost
chances postponed, are chances lost.

When they are with you, it's such a boon
to have the loved ones, so tell them soon
before time snatches away, you or them
with your love unuttered, heart unspoken.

Feb 15

Lori Jones McCaffery

APOCALYPSE

The drums of doom are echoing
Across the barren hillsides.
  Heavy carts on wheels of hatred
   Loaded high with steaming tubs of vitriol
    And the ugly trolls who brewed it,
     Are rolling down the twisted roads,
      Toward a city newly named Perdition,
       There to dance the Sarabande
        While flocks of screaming Peregrines
         Circle through the storm black clouds
          And all the shutters are nailed tight
           Against the wind that that rattles doors
            And augurs the millennium.
ljm

One of the longest sentences I've latelywritten

Feb 10

Rob Rutledge

Death of a Butterfly

Under a sullen, unloving sky,
Caught off guard by the searching rain,
She flees to shieldlike canopies.
A pilgrim on the path of shadow
Ever tethered to the flame.
Enslaved to the way of fire
Sycophant of the eternal blaze.
Condemned to spend the end of days
Wandering wastelands of the Sun,
Forever exiled from the shade.

In the darkness she would remain,
If only she would have her way.
Cocooned in shells of memory
Fogs of war,
Ill explained.
Though the forest chatter
Never quite sounds the same,
The pitter patter
Pauses,
Secrets encoded in the rain.
Her frail wings lay broken
Breath comes barely when spoken,
Offspring away upon the wind.
Though they took no time to notice
The darkness roars forth and shows us

We have our own fires to attend.

Feb 9

Rob Rutledge

Song of Storms

We woke one morn
To the song of storms
And the iron grip of fever.
Torn between the call of war
Fleeting dreams of Patagonia.
The afterglow of horror shows
Shadows left upon the mountain.
Nightmares rise from water falls
Sanguine spectres in the fountain.
Preachers drink long, far, and deep
While prophets speak of profits reaped
And treasures yet to be found.
Among andean condor calls
Those who seek live weak to greed
Forever bound enthralled.

Feb 9

Rob Rutledge

Overslept

The Sun was late today,
Claims she was stuck in traffic,
Surrounded by clouds that
Would not give way.
She apologises nonetheless,
For any inconvenience caused
The delays and/or distress.

I suspect she simply overslept.
Based on the smell of ethanol,
Cigarettes upon the breath.
Half popped packs of paracetamol
Left discarded on the desk.
The good mornings softly spoken
That shows the will is bent,
Not broken.
Ignoring token take out coffee
Cups of renewable confessions.

It's quite the sight to see,
The one that's always early
Arriving this time dishevelled,
Disoriented, unsettled.
She stumbles through yawns
Stretching out the groans of dawn.
Still she manages a smile.
So the world begins to brighten
At least for a little while.