Anneli Jun 5
For all of us who have bashed ourselves numb
trying to be there
(for our brothers)

For all of us who have locked our hearts inside
settling with a joke
(for our fathers)

For all of us who have loved them more than ourselves
more than we could handle
(for our men)

For all of us who keeps putting our friends before us
always coming last place
(for our loved ones)

For all of us whose hearts are out there, feeling with everyone
trying to save strangers with one look
(for our fellow humans)

For all of us who can have amnesty and forgiveness to all others
seeing their imperfections as beauty
(for everyone besides us)

For us
We will learn
We will sympathize
We will passionately love ourselves
more than we have loved anyone else

At last
we will free ourselves
Steve Page May 17
The faintest click of a radio button
a song that I swear I'd long forgotten

and I journey back to another time
happily quiet, but humming inside

running much faster than blue dinosaurs
I Spy much more than a boy really saw

different than walking, different like flying
moving so fast they can't hear my sighing

tremours of laughter on Radio 2
then singing out loud junior choice tunes

even when songs fade away in the hills
I'd rather be here than back at home still

wary of Jenny's sharp buckled shoes
breathing in clouds from dad's old Saint Bruno

holding on tight to my cool DB5
m'Lady's pink Rolls is off for a drive

I always I Spy with my little eye
3 for a girl and then 4 for a boy

I Spy mum’s constant quick fingered knitting
row after row with Sally still kicking

then I Spy Janet swinging her feet
I Spy other kids in other back seats

I wish for grandma's baked cherry biscuits
I see the first sign that we're near Tonbridge

these are old snatches of life in the 60s
this is me looking back from my 50s

I'll sit still back here, just one back seat song
from family trips where I still belong
A sing that took me back to happy days and  a family trip to grandparents in Kent.
Nikki Jayne May 14
New moon
Dark rising
Looking within
Goddess timing
Sisters gather
Circle strength
Intentions matter
Love mends
Abby May 13
Emmalou comes to my bed at night:
"Now Abby, tell me a story!", she orders.
"I can tell you about stars and the Universe's borders, or just moonlight."
Mary-Eliz Apr 24
Six to Twelve
(My Big Sister)

My sister,
she’s a silly ol’ priss.
Know what she did?
She gave her boyfriend a kiss!
Blech! Doesn’t she know
boys are just yucky?
Doesn’t she know
they’ll make you buggy?

We used to do things together,
my sister and me.
We’d play in our yard
And climb up our tree.

But now when my sister
Arrives home from school,
She calls up her boyfriend.
She thinks she’s SO cool.
She giggles and whispers
Closed up in her room.
She stays there forever!
All afternoon.

She’s acting so silly.
It must be a stage.
But I won’t be like that!
When I get to her age!

Twelve to Six
(My Little Sister)

My little sister,
she’s such a pest.
She goofs off in the morning
when she needs to get dressed.

She has to be reminded
to brush her teeth and her hair.
I have to tell her what to do sometimes
and even what to wear.

She can really get in my way.
I want to be serious,
but she wants to play.

I wonder will she ever grow up?
Will she be cool like me?
I know I was her age one time
but I was more grown up, you see!
Also for the children's book.
I cry to lost sojourners
offering shelter, soothing wine,
and unleaven wafers sustain the body
2018 © Christos Victor
When it seems all the world wants to sell me on painkillers, you face the troubled of all sorts with a scalpel and a wink. Even when those stitches holding your own spitshined heart together are looking a little iffy.

Since childhood, we’ve floundered like fish out of water both longing for the sea, but with age, I think that you and I have come to view the ocean in very different ways.

What I see as an adventure, you’ve always seen as home.

The sea could never quite mystify someone who’s strived to be more siren than human. No, unlike the flower from which you were named, your real garden patch is present with the planets.

You make me want to be as stalwart as Stonewall, and save my wishing well quarters for the pigs who tried to suss out every non-straight playing broad through her suit clothes, so that on the days where the face of my best friend's assaulter bears down like the man in the moon, she’ll preserve her beautiful, blessed hands by halting her fist before it can hit any wall.

Apparently, you’ve been learning Russian on a whim since age eleven. You love tattoos and art in it's sometimes most tantric forms. The firm and sometimes too-firm handshake between aesthetic and soul, and what, дорогая сестра, is more human than that?

And you called yourself cynical.
Yet when the life of a honeybee means so much in your hands, I can’t understand how you tried to scorn the weight of the world. You found beauty in banana slugs, and I have to believe you do not know your own self.

Seeing you make sense of other people, I now believe that mermaids are incredibly self-conscious, so when we asail our Somali plundered doubloons, blood diamonds, pearls of tortured oysters, and other ill-gotten goods back into the sea, may we feel we’ve done our duty when they see their own reflections for the first time and become narcissists.

Because of you, I tried for the first time to love myself, because like it or not, this is what I’ve got. What we’ve got. The most detached tag team duo the world’s never seen.

But on the day that I finally throw the dragon’s den fortune of our mother back into the mariana trench from which she and the sessions family came, I’ll think back to the time where she said that, as siblings, we’d grow up to be best friends. But let’s face it, we have both lost a lot of best friends, though you are the only one of all those come and gone who’s yet to steer me wrong. Okay, that’s a fat lie, because for a second of my life you convinced me to believe that you are cynical.

Comparing your stride to the rest of the world’s, I will never again judge somebody for the way they walk. Even if they have to drag themselves, kicking and screaming from point A to point B, the last thing a person needs is another stranger stepping on their lifeline.

I hear of everything you're doing, day in and day out, think of all the times this world’s nearly lost you, and I remember the statue in our neighbor’s front lawn. A little girl-an angel- with butterflies landing atop her precious hands. Then I realized that to be an angel statue means you can never reach out for more, and suddenly, I know why you always preferred cyborgs.
With a long overdue dedication to my sister, Lily.
Gina Mar 30
I ask
you scream
you ask
I ask
lost in translation
between violent words
and distance
is our need for being
what we always wanted
can never possibly be
you are who you are
and I am
March 30, 2018
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