The Secrets of the Deep

No lines, no contours mark the ways 

among the roaming mountains 

 'neath the 

swell 

 where ceaseless 

travellers 

 glide and hunt in silent 

realms 

 that shun the ritual 

binds 

 of human sway.

No maps, no beacons, 

no left 

or right or wrong, 

no precious 

laws disturb 

God's dark 

kingdoms of the deep.

© Shelia Rogers
All rights reserved

Maps

Courtship was blissful, wedding preparations harmonious and the sun shone as confetti was thrown.  Later, the speeches were witty, the wine flowed and guests danced.

Then, driving to the honeymoon hotel, they met a roundabout. 

“Which exit?” he snapped.

She proffered the map which was flapped away.

The skies darkened.

© Tim Scott
All rights reserved

Factory Ship

Ghostly silhouettes
stand, wait at first light,

for a smouldering apparition
for a wraith on the tide,
for a chimney to rise;

for a breath of smoke
to smudge at,

to erase, to displace
the remains of this night.

© Emma Rich
All rights reserved

Misremembering a life

Rumpled dark blue sheets,

a perfect cup of tea.

A bouquet of Tiger lilies on his desk;

her hands knitting whilst she listened to the BBC.

A pair of dark glasses,

Rachel’s slow smile.

A series of photographs;

disconnected short films,

The failure of false maps;

their loss in transmission;

© Sophia Roberts
All rights reserved