(Italian sonnet form–I think) By Sandy Lender   A multitude came crawling up the sandy shore Only moonlight off’ring light by which to nest A thousand sets of flapping flippers sought what ground is best Mighty turtles one by one raked the ground and tore…

Color of the day… Bursting in chaos, smell of freedom, Burnt blood, smoked streets Blue against black dark night ignites cold heart, death arrives   Fist raise up Million voices screams as one feet marching, thumping, running Ocean of people gasping singing the same hymn…

Season of the Songbird nestled in the tree by my window her performance schedule is quite particular but when the warm wind of a summer evening brushes through her wings, the neighborhood rendered silent: flushed-out street lamps and a shade-splattered landscape she lifts her head…

SEASON OF THE UNCERTAINTIES   Life ever changing, with its ups and downs Unpredictable and often unnerving.   Taking us down a path of our choosing And sometimes down a path we wish not to travel.   We can try to predict our outcomes, But…

Passing clouds, carry me to ancient lands, where the Earth is still and free   Where, in my silence, I find purity and peace. That is where I rest.

Here you go again Girl you need to get out of your head The demons you’re fighting aren’t real There’s no monsters under your bed The noise you hear Is the lies you tell yourself No, the guy you love isn’t cheating Yes, your friends…

Melodies and syncopated rhythms ring in my ear Bass bleeding into my skin Pulsating drums pace my cardio cadence My soul fed through damp grass on the soles of my feet Gyrating hips churning warm wind A soft hand touches my face I see my…

As promiscuous as the first buds of spring nudging into each other for attention was the first droplet on our side of the Atlantic. And, so quickly it captured its prey, we knew not which direction to turn without becoming its next victim. To know…

I’m sanitising the  sideboard where I lay my paper down I’m bleaching the steps at the front and back doors I’ve got bottles of disinfectant ready for murder, if I must I’m keeping a squeaky clean house because it’s the Season of the Cane Toad…

Here they come chatting and gawking touching and sniffing pulling and binding Next thing you know I’ll be in a pretentious basket on display at some forced farmers market stand naked and twisted next to the purple basil flowers still intact silently screaming Oh, the…