For A.S. on Making Light

Abi has got it, I think, mostly right
about the way that sub-threads intersect,
we're here to learn, communicate, connect;
the final product? This is Making Light.
All of us here are smart, well-read, bright,
we're not the prisoners of some closed sect
(except for knitters, if I may interject),
and you'll find us here any day or night.
Science fiction, politics, the cost of thread,
on all these topics we'll expatiate,
we're in a Symposium, an intellectual feast.
With effort each turns away to earn some bread,
somehow we get there, never running late;
and hamsters serve as our heraldic beast.

jamaica española

they colonised the spaces made them strange
to those who had been there who promptly died
about their predecessors they freely lied
not them but providence did things so arrange
the place was theirs now their own sweet grange
to which by nomenclature they were tied
a place worth defending with the most saintly pride
a place of sugar and spice where cattle range
what would they have become if left alone
if they had not in their turn been displaced
into what sort of folk would they have evolved
we can't tell they might have come to atone
or might their consciences have misplaced
but into faded memory they've all dissolved

Welcoming a poet

There's no duel here, although we all are wits,
so welcome, Sandy, to the rhyming crowd;
we're raucous, boisterous, always a little loud,
but heaven knows we do what sense permits
and no more than that. We'll occasionally blitz
on tea and coffee, and, frankly, we're allowed
to rhyme our hearts out, keep our heads unbowed
in this place (better than any beaches in St Kitts).
It doesn't matter whether you drink tea,
or even coffee (I'll concede that much),
as that you bring some friendship to the table.
With humour, sense, and kindness we make free
this is a place where we can leave the hutch
(or workplace) and find freedom through the cable.

walkabout

straight on the road in july tropic heat
i've got a bag i've got a little cash
i know i'm going to get home very beat
that what i'm doing is a little rash
i haven't enough to make the dash
by bus or train it's rough out on the isles
i've no plans nothing's going to clash
tomorrow i'll have walked fifty hard miles

the idea seemed simple clear and neat
i needed money needed a small stash
to find some work not to admit defeat
i wasn't going to let my hopes go smash
the solution was to go and use my wiles
back home the long hard road to bash
tomorrow i'll have walked fifty hard miles

there's no reason at this hour to repeat
all that i saw there was no sudden flash
i crossed the plains the sun fell to his seat
i had no money had no secret cache
my only currency was nods and smiles
i wished for water could not get a splash
tomorrow i'll have walked fifty hard miles

prince i would warn you not your teeth to gnash
but keep this record safe within the files
i made the journey got my little cash
tomorrow i'll have walked fifty hard miles

forced march

what tells us when the journey isn't done
that there's a long way still so far to go
our feet upon the road are far too slow
behind the distant building sinks the sun
what's hidden there we cannot hope to know
we can't keep up we soon will lose the glow
and walking through the dark is not much fun
the distances seem greater and the weight
of worry about what do do when sleep
sits heavy on the eyes there's naught to do
but to keep going for though it get truly late
rest has to wait till we our meeting keep
we've no choice now we've got to make it through