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 Sep 2015 Michele Burke
RH 78
Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Washed up.
Lifeless.
All for a new life too far to reach?

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Terrorists
Heartless.
What happened to the human rights we all preach?

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Traffickers.
Gangs.
Displacing people no home and no speech.

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
A son.
No future.
We hang our heads and weep!
Broken hearted and deeply affected by pictures I saw in the news depicting the lifeless body of a little boy no older than three who was photographed washed up on the shore line of Turkey. The result of further illegal human smuggling, people trafficking promising to get families to Europe on a false promise. All too often, people are put into small boats unable to sustain the weight of all the people put upon it and not fit for purpose. This is yet another shocking event in the wake of atrocities taking place in North Africa where the displacement of millions of innocent people continues. Governments are too busy counting the pennies and quarrelling amongst themselves in addition to wasting precious time as gangs and smugglers take advantage of the situation by sending people to their death profiting from the desperation of families searching for a place to call home. When will this end? RIP to the little boy, his brother and mother who all perished.
 Aug 2015 Michele Burke
Kat
Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.
if you gently take my hand
and lead me
into the ocean of your love

don’t be surprised if,
when you leave me there to drown in your piercing silence,

i destroy myself,
fighting to get back to shore.

-Jenny Jen Cat
Would you miss me
if I was no longer here
would you notice I was missing
would you even shed a tear

Would you think back
to all the things you never said
would you find time to write that letter
would you wish it had been read

Would you follow me
or try to find out where I'd gone
would you wish you'd made the effort
would you admit you got it wrong

Would you wish now
that you'd decided not to wait
Would you read this in the future
and curse you were too late?
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
I'm too drunk to think,
Still sober enough to feel.
No heart left to steal.
Just when I saw the wet eye,
noticed the shake in it's hand,
felt the body going backwards,
saw the brightness inside it,

Just when I touched the warm skin,
connected with the speed of blood pumping,
realised the micromovements,
touched inside it,
is when I understood human emotion.
He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.
Close your eyes
and imagine a kiss
filled with longing
and passionate bliss
Feel my hands
about your waist
see if you can
my yearning taste
And as intensity
starts to grow
Hold me tight
don't let me go
Pull me closer
to your breast
see if this dream
will pass the test
If pulse has quickened
and cheeks have flushed
then follow this dream
to me you must.
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
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