.the war house. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

dug within for strength, without for vegetables.

 

tidy allotments  for food. primroses came by post; my father.

 

war was declared before me.

 

they said that some hid in outside toilets to avoid the bombs. there were hits in bournemouth.

 

some dads dug deep for shelter in the garden.  anderson, half buried.  flower beds planted with veg.

 

peace times, families stored their potatoes , rather than waste. rationing continued.

 

i remember the implications, was told the facts later.

 

much later.

 

the war house & after.

 

now

 

we dig within for solidity, solidarity, power to continue.  food is plenty.

 

in wales find they grew potatoes here. i have a          photograph.

 

I still hide under tables.

war house

.white feathers. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

i dream i dream of porcupines.

 

white feathers dipped in blood.

 

bloody mess  wars,

bodies rotting  there.             there

are   thoughts while stitching that

this could save the world.

 

a quiet thing. no injuries, the blood

comes small in useful            drops.

drops down,      meditative sound.

 

white feathers fall.

 

porcupines.

white feathers

.grubby cars. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

i did not know when you started.

 

talking.

 

about the socks,      how

they are not made to last.

 

about those you were wearing

for five years.    i did not wish

to see your leg    sir.

 

about the chamois leathers, how

we used to have more variety.

 

which brought him to talk

about hand car wash. by

foreigners. his words not

mine.

insisted that they deliberately

scratch the cars, then turn their guns,

these foreigners. his words not mine.

 

i left, i am not paid to listen to  your racist

remarks sir.

 

i am paid to weave and serve another day.

 

 

 

he left without buying.

grubby cars

.diagnosis. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

look at the actor,acting that the arms hurts

to help with self diagnosis.

 

it will be ok if we have paper to write

on.

 

wait for news of those that are dying, have died

of fire.

 

we may still have paper.

to draw on.

 

read the news and watch the radio, we can keep

up to date through the publications

if they have paper to print on.

 

numbers rise,

high rise.

firemen

For them all by Rang-Zeb Rango Hussain

For the Refugees who have lost their all,
For the Homeless who are abandoned,
For the Forsaken who have no one,
For the Voiceless who go unheard,
For the Loveless who grieve for trust,
For the Dead who perished in poverty’s fire,
For the Orphans who dream no more,
For the Betrayed who died far from home,
For Humanity in a time of mass poison.

for them all

#chestercathedral by Sonja Benskin Mesher

i come to you each month to leave a prayer to be said. i have no faith yet live in hope.

 

look at mosaics, oh absalom, my son, my son.

wonder where the justice is. i come to think on things. each time i am challenged as to my reasons, & do i have a ticket?

it is enough to put some off from visiting at all. only the brave. thank you.

 

pray for them, all is in disorder.

chester

 

.. wouldst thou be pm, an abbreviation.. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

archaic or dialect question, in appropriate.                         a lowly start

with slight misgivings,  i come arrived from the country, an immigrant

here.

 

if the task came to me unlikely, i should sew profusely.  a safe bet in that

something grows decently.

 

do you know how to stitch a lie, when all about grow honesty?  mine was

white last year,

now nothing germinates.

 

the question is irreverent, no disrespect meant.  forgive me, this is the second

time. this time,

 

i shall stay.

 

despite my nationality.

face

.moving on. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

moving on from the last verse of girly looking

after girly, we stopped at the jeweller’s window.

 

the assistant, neat looked bore & very clean. the

rings were                  three thousands and more.

 

enough to take her        home and more.

 

“yes sir you may buy the ring, for a
thousand pounds, or choose to save
her life”

bound

. evil it was, evil it is . by Sonja Benskin Mesher

did you dream of evil last night, for evil it was.

 

pocked, bleeding and dead.           back broken.

 

this morning the garden is damp, a mole  died

peaceably.

 

plans for a new path are growing, yet there was

evil.

 

again.

 

last night.

evil

 

Don’t Let Us Die by Stephen Jarrell Williams

Please

don’t let us die

we that are starving

in all corners of the world

 ..

we have our dreams

butterflies in the air

with a full tummy

before we sleep.

Don't Let Us Die

Bio-

Stephen Jarrell Williams writes and draws late into the night, watching out his window for the Coming Good Dawn.

I saw the Children by Stephen Jarrell Williams

I saw the children marching

a long protest march

against all that is wrong

and in their faces I saw us

a better us

doing so much more

and here they come

their laughter

and spirit

and strength

disarming

all the sad monsters of this world.

I Saw The Children

..

Bio-

Stephen Jarrell Williams writes and draws late into the night, watching out his window for the Coming Good Dawn.

Fly-Tipping Point by Marc Woodward

This is where we sit to watch the night come in
ever since Trumputin bombed our English towns.
We emptied freezers, ate our neighbours pets.
Now in the bird-settling, when once we sat down

to be tamed by tv shows we can’t recall,
we recline here and watch the weeds approach
knowing soon their rope will be a ligature
that tightly winds itself around our throats.

..

MW

.division. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

numbers came suddenly, soon after one. nothing added any more, all began to subtract, divide, the result algebraic there are no rulers, lines to divide, the total is irrelevant now, the addition foremost. i have been to the counting.

initially, crossed the  sea to the land, from one to another, then, talking. crossed the narrow bridge spoke of the past, you know what i mean.                                                                       courage to walk

away.

a book about death. 14.

division

.mathematics. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

irregular, you came, your best clothes shining.   never mind. the first tune hit the mind, patterns and mathematics.   the kindness that is.

 

he said. machine you see.   glass reflecting.            slowly it starts repeating.   the walls of differing colours.  we have the dvds.                                          on and on repeating on and on repeating on and on repeating.

 

back to the counting, how many have there been, how many are left still standing. an issue for some, yet we  amend the figures here and move on. lucky ones,            maths divides and decimates others.

 

1.2

 

repeating.

maths

. next wednesday 29 . by Sonja Benskin Mesher

speech.

simple notes, there is much discussion now, where the place used to be pure quiet and  acceptance.

it seems to him that talking does not get the job done.                 gently balancing wool.  words  fall .

 

we had gathered here before to watch the weathering.     referendum come and gone with fury.

 

speech

 

fails us.

 

simple notes. none rise higher than the one next.

 

to you, to me, this may not be

the acceptance

expected.

Wednesday

.his model shop. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

with great love and care ( adverb) he made them. each one             by hand.

most were killed before breakfast. visitors asked to see the bodies,  having

none, he imported them from abroad.                                    more  killed than

the somme. thousands after dawn.                         he has models now of dead

soldiers, some with arrows in.

small scene          first world war,                            glow in the dark.    memorial.

having spent time among his battles,   i went and ate a donut.           lovingly.

model