June Poets

June Poets

Brian Ring

Sasha Dee

Peter Leonard Cox

William Ball

Howard Luke

E.A. Foster

Libby Shearon

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Peter Cox

Peter Cox


A bowl of muesli could be lunch.
No meat and veg., but lots to crunch.

To say “it’s CRUNCH time” need not mean
it’s time for nuts, on which we’re keen.

For CRUNCH can mean we must decide.
Should we buy shoes that aren’t so wide?

Or CRUNCH – my credit limit’s less.
Why SO much less, I cannot guess.

I can’t charge thousands to my card,
as CRUNCH, these times are very hard.

Yet CRUNCH for me means time to munch
Ry-vita biscuits for my lunch.

Six teeth i’ve lost. I crunch with care.
To OVER-CRUNCH I do not dare.

A welcome at the boarded-up inn.

( Plumstead, London 5/6/10. )

I’m welcome here, according to the sign.
Warm welcome, But a welcome can’t be cold.
And warmth to strangers- could it seem too bold?
A pleasant building painted white- all fine.

Some pubs with bouncers ( heavy coats and tall )
may let you in, but welcome? none at all,
while here, it seems, I should have no such fears.
I think I will go in and have two beers.

But first of all, I need to find a door,
and not a door all covered with a board.
There’s no way in! That is a major flaw.
It could be ineffective if I sawed.

I think it would be better if I drilled,
though for the damage caused, I might be billed,
and would get in, but no-one might be there.
The bar or former bar could seem quite bare.

And also, most importantly, I fear,
there might not be the means of serving beer.
That welcome sign should clearly not be there.
It could mislead, and is that really fair?

Libby Shearon

Libby Shearon

What Time is It?

What time is it?

I heard you say

Sitting quietly in your chair

Twenty past 12, I said

Lunch is on the way

What time is it?

I heard you say

Sitting quietly in your chair

Twenty past 12, I said

Tomato Soup, thick and warm, today

What time is it?

I heard you say

Sitting quietly in your chair

Twenty past 12, I said

Here is your lovely crunchy bread.  I didn’t have to pay!

What time is it?

I heard you say

Sitting quietly in your chair

Twenty past 12, I said

For afters, coffee and ice cream on a way

What time is it?

I heard you say

Sitting at the table

Twenty past 12, I said

I’m not hungry today

It was what you always said.

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Sasha Dee

Sasha Dee


Goliath was going to a very distant land

Because the civilization was full of Davids

From five years to fifty years, male and female

Each equipped with a catapult shooting at him

But luck was on his side

He found on his way

A young pretty daughter

Of a Godzilla couple

She had just left her family

With a note that she was fed up

With their style of life

And was not going to take it in any more

Their continuous talking her down.

As the time passed Goliath and Godzilla

Produced pretty babies who,

Looked half Goliath and half Godzilla

They called them Gozilla

And their own world Gozillization

Who, could live under water

And on arid mountainous land

As soon as Davidians come

Either to explore or exploit

Their land or oceans

They would quickly

Go from one place to another.

So far no Davidian has found

Them except in fossilized forms

Or their small and subtle or

Huge and obvious artworks

Sculptures cave paintings etc.

Gozillas are very happy Gozillization.

Moonlight on the Milbank

Moon light on the Milbank

Silver runny water of the river

Promenade on the embankment

Close walk, warm locked hands

Summer breeze blows gentle

The locks of your hair rebel

The smile warming the mood

The halo of the bright moon

On the smooth path, steps stumble

The balance gain back in wild struggle

But it yielded in embarrassing embrace

Uncertainty melts with moist lips press

The moon hides behind the white cloud

Is it love is it love? Cried a passer loud

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Howard Luke

Howard Luke


I dream of the Supreme personality of Godhead

The One with a flute

The perpetual youth with blue skin

The one who became many

In order to give pleasure

And then I awake alone

Reaching for the beads at dawn

I begin to chant

Soon I am lost and there is only the name



As I move from bead to bead

Minutes pass and there is only the name



Thoughts recede there is only the chant

Until it is over and in the distance

I sense it

At the peripheral of my vision

A blue flame of Soul light

I am no longer alone.

Wade in the water

The TV is on the blink

The holiday season has commenced

Escapism has lost my seat

And I am trapped in a tomb of

High streets, trains, buses and

Derelict corner shops,


To plan a resurrection and greet

The beach

With my toes, on the sand

And the sea against my ankles prodding

My Achilles heel

Lagos and the Algarve  yells at me

But Escapism has lost my number

As I breathe in the polluted air

Yearning for a break

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Brian Ring

Brian Ring


I suddenly find myself in the cold mean city.

I have no cash – I’d been conned out of it.

I have nowhere to go, but even the heated

Crypt of the church I had used to frequent is barred to me.

I  also would gravitate to the foyer of the Hauptbahnhof –

But the railway police would simply keep me moving on.

Even if the police station is warm in its cell—

I would still have to commit a real crime –

Throwing a brick at a window in itself would not do.

So I keep on walking.. staggering through the dark lanes,

alleys and streets.

Perhaps if I were a female I would find somewhere,

with someone to spend the night free,

But that’s regarded as a sexist-

remark-men really do not get the running,

Anyway, there’s ageism against me too-

The OAP hostel is only open of a Friday night-

And its yet another

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E.A. Foster

E.A. Foster

Love Sick

Love sick,
am i sick of love or in love with the sickness,

Once again my heart is stolen,
Being held in hands with little care,
Your rough palms bruise the exterior,
and your harsh treatment keeps them there.

Your dismissal shatters my humble personae,
and makes my heart somehow 10 stones heavier.

For a one sided love is never fair,
Yet i say this and fail to ask do you even care?

At first glance, first sight, first kiss,
It seemed something quite obvious,
Now your just a memory wondering in the distance.
And im sitting here wondering why i have to miss this

Love sick, am i sick of Love,

Or in love with the Sickness…

Sunken and heavy, beautifully disappointed, gracefully accepting.

Sunken and heavy, beautifully disappointed, gracefully accepting.
For I possess something that does not belong to me…….
Ensuring my survival but will it ensure I survive you?
Its heaviness drags at my feet, it lowers my head, it slows my pace.
No harness or strings or conventional things can lighten my load, can lift the mass, can aid the sting.

Sunken and heavy, beautifully disappointed, gracefully accepting
But still I raise my head, I wipe my eyes an put power in my stride.
But still asking why?
They say the eyes are the windows to your soul well my eyes are glazed so my windows shall show nil.
A process of destruction, 101 questions, like the banks of a muddy river I erode into a stream of unknowing.
The glaze over my eyes acts as a barrier to the rest of my life, but inside I die.

Sunken and heavy, beautifully disappointed, gracefully accepting
With no choice in direction, no power over position, no stance, in this stream I glide.
And as the stream flows no longer, on my journey I have grown stronger
And embrace the beauty of my characteristics you just happened to provide.

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