Table of Contents

A Journal for Linking Poets  

Symbiotic Poems

Lynne Rees, Wales (lynne)

Jim Wilson, USA, (dharmajim),Moira Richards, South Africa (moi),Karen Cesar, USA (karen),Raihana Dewji, USA (sbasil),CW Hawes, USA (chris), Kala Ramesh, India (kala), Josh Wikoff, USA (lemonkind),Norman Darlington, Ireland - sabaki (norman),with a hokku by Matsuo Basho
(tr. Darlington):

Dick Pettit
Francis Attard

Diane Webb
Frank Williams

Suhni Bell
Cindy Tebo

Patricia Prime
Andre Surridge

Patricia Prime
Andre Surridge

Lewis Sanders
Carl Brennan

Zack Lyon
Richard Tice

David Giacalone
CarrieAnn Thunell

CarrieAnn Thunell
Steven Thunell


Francis Attard
Dick Pettit

2006 by  
Francis Attard
Dick Pettit

 THE MOWER'S BLADES by Jill Arthey, Sarah Barker, Margaret Dowdeswell, Sue Dunne
Alec Finlay, Linda France (Master), Malcolm Green
Beth Knowles, Alicia Lester, Ros Normandale, Carole Reeves, Tom Richardson, Christine Taylor



Lynne Rees, Wales (lynne)

Jim Wilson, USA (dharmajim)
Moira Richards, South Africa (moi)
Karen Cesar, USA (karen)
Raihana Dewji, USA (sbasil)
CW Hawes, USA (chris)
Kala Ramesh, India (kala)
Josh Wikoff, USA (lemonkind)
Norman Darlington, Ireland - sabaki (norman)
with a hokku by Matsuo Basho (tr. Darlington):
hiyahiya to kabe wo fumaete hirune kana

Side 1

how cool the feeling
of a wall against the feet —
siesta —basho

sunlight squeezes through
the shuttered window —lynne

as she takes her walk
the purling of a brook
over rocks —dharmajim

* * *

Side 2

yes, the earth moved
for me too, lil' darlin' —moi

on clear winter nights
I still listen for
your footsteps —karen

oh, gone Samarra's dome
its minarets! —sbasil

* * *

Side 3

news at six
another sluggish day
on Wall Street —chris

fog travels among
the speeding vehicles —kala

tarot cards
spread by gypsy girls
under a full moon —karen

* * *

Side 4

we pile the bones
on a plate between us —lemonkind

apple blossom
and the softening
of tractor ruts —lynne

silkworms dream
of spinning to the stars —norman


Composed 5 June to 3 July 2007.



Dick Pettit

Diane Webb
Frances Attard
Frank Williams

Two blue moons
in the drifting skylight
of drunken dreams                        dp

Persephone's stone statue
breathes in deeply                        dw

in the underground
a whispered conversation           fa

the lip reader shares
all the latest gossip                   fw

forecast is
for heavy snow, deepening
into night                                  dp

Blue Peter considers
tortoise hibernation                      dw

as the leaves fall
the forest slips into
a natural limbo                         fw

on the verge
neither can say a word             dp

coming to his sense
he takes their keys
out of the bowl                         fw

his rejected plea
S W A L K                                 fa

fresh cut roses
scattered on the grass
who will gather?                       dw

at dusk waves gently lap
an empty shoreline                  fw

This junicho renku was begun on the night of 31 May 2007, the second full (blue) moon in the month.  Blue Peter is a BBC TV children's programme. We wrote this by the revolving sabakimethod. The player whose verse is chosen chooses the next from the usually three verses offered by each of  other three players. The discards are kept for possible further use.



Suhni Bell
Cindy Tebo

slowly unraveling all the red tape

retirement dinner 'water available upon request'

once a year the koi pond refilled with luck

tiger lilies in the spot where the dog used to sleep

autumn breeze shadows scatter to the wind

maracas from a shake or two of seed packets

'our song' my middle-aged heart skips a beat

graduation under green leaves the fallen ones

tomorrow 12-steps retraced

sketch of a rapist like the one from my childhood

peeping tom her man in the moon

panicattack spacesaround metighten

booby trap after the mastectomy mom names her prosthetic

summer drawl of the phoebe before summer begins

juneteenth the white neighbor's flapping confederate flag*

sunrise along the rosa parks highway

birthday wish i could earn frequent flyer miles for going crazy

jagged memories of haystack rock

progressive lenses the optometrist's illegible prescription

dad's journal the slants of his letters have changed

cicada chorus then the crickets cicada chorus then the crickets

head injury the stars become pinwheels of pain

wake-up call stirring insomnia in my coffee

shades of depression surround Abercrombie's tree**

mulberry abstracts your barefeet

wallpaper moods
where the lines have parted

i seem to be missing the director's cut

cell phone diagnosis there's one test we haven't done yet

new vet a quack in the frog pond

a twilight soup of hot flashes and mosquitoes

school cafeteria fruit flies

army recruiters those smiling faces stalking my son

lost in cyberspace multilingual directions

stock jock predictions it's suit and tie weather again

closer than today yesterday's Alzheimer

rebuilding the meadow towers of purple milkweed


*Juneteenth [June 19th] is the oldest known celebration commemorating the ending of slavery in the United States. The Confederate flag has been described as a shameful reminder of slavery and segregation.

*In Reference to a work by Gertrude Abercrombie entitled, "Charlie Parker's Favorite Painting."



Patricia Prime
Andre Surridge

stepping stones
the river changes
its melody

half-way across
pausing to watch minnows
basking in sunlight

close to the surface
in shallow water

fluid notes
from a kowhai
tui song

mountain stillness
leaves fall on boulders
and on water

as we climb the track
towards the summit

as you wait for me
the glimmer of sunlight
on a mushroom

at the top
cool air and clear views
for miles around

taking it all in
with a deeper breath

dark earth
the heavy scent
of humus

crackling of a fire
to boil the billy
for tea

you like your's strong and sweet,
my preference is for black

autumn evening
the Norfolk pines
always green

heading home
a hint of mist
in the air

the rush of our feet
brushing through ferns



Patricia Prime
Andre Surridge

running late
to catch the morning train
worried it won’t stop

told you so, his words
at the shuttered window

moving carriage
her eyes tracking
back and forth

along a stationary line
of motorway traffic

on the horizon
shifting shapes
become other things –

patterns that tend to lead us
into daytime reveries

if he won lotto
he’d definitely buy
a yacht

sail off into the blue
no matter what she said

he is back there
on old man on the wharf
in another time
dreaming of his days at sea
and of the girl’s fine blue eyes

those eyes
so deep a blue that a man
might drown in them

rolling down his cheeks
tears he quickly wipes away



Lewis Sanders
Carl Brennan

Night plague
flesh eaters walk
in the old graveyard   

Unconsecrated claret
luring the thirsty homeless    

Strange night lights
stranger shadows shuffling
in the night                          

Rafters creak
only storm winds shaking
the hanged man                  

The antique farmhouse
cobwebs trembling everywhere    

Scratching at casements
the countryside's mystery
pleads for admittance           

In the village
running men with shotguns    

Regular guys
shout the usual expletives –
bars closing early                   

A woman screams
a child cries for his mother
night fog                               

Her last cigarette smolders
a perfume in bloodstained grass    

In the field
where pumpkins grow
shuffling zombie feet      

A rustic's severed head kicked
& kicked down a moonless gorge    

Taste for raw game
the dead woman kneels over
the dead man                          

My god enthroned
in my guts demanding
more than prayers          

Spreading the horror
the once alive policeman    

The disinterred Many
littering every highway
stop signs ignored         

Old woman at the window
here and there screams in the city    

Rain changing to hail
vague out-of-towners shambling
through a crossfire                       

Army posts overrun
there is talk
of using nukes           

Our sage president resigns
Wall Street goes ballistic       

The crisis spreads
from Europe
sudden blackouts     

Newspapers readily torn
bandage the infected bite    

Seeking shelter
in Notre Dame de Paris
Death clawing at the doors   

Just the latest uprising
of hungry beggars –
gargoyles remain calm    

 From across the Channel
London in flames                  

Shakespeare's Histories
a north wind disintegrates
charred pages                     

Debris littered streets
a lost dog shivering      

Untold carnage
a vagrant lycanthrope
nearly fainting                

Sudden moon
illuminates the
strange body      

One ragged thing, then others
Each shadow sensing your fear    

Survivors wait
to be rescued
here and there a scream    

Wave after wave of rawboned stiffs
taking no prisoners                        

Running up the stairs
fleeing the onslaught
of the hungry dead         

Poor rabid beasts
seeing nothing but prey
Welcome to my castle 

Glaring red eyes
from the midnight mist    

Minor carnivores en masse
inherit this earth
graves in broad daylight         



Zack Lyon
Richard Tice

dusty butterfly
goes its own way

a sign shows the green valley . . .
cliffs rising from deep snow

still no bus—
snow deepens
on the scowling gargoyle

deep spring: easily passing
the temple’s fierce guardians

empty field
where the shrine once stood:
I enter the ancient portal

globe lights of the squid boats
strung throughout the black ocean

far from home:
beyond the snowfield,
the Milky Way

student buses—an old man
pruning the campus cherries

cherry harvest over—
all of the starlings
fat and sassy

among the cement houses
red peppers dry on black tarps

street vendor selling
deep-fried sweet potato sticks
and kumquats

after the snowstorm—
apricot branches covered with blossoms

sweep of tundra
Mount Denali
behind the veil

in and out of sleep—
my mother’s whisper

so much has changed:
childhood home for sale again
by another owner

cliff-dwelling wall—
thumbprint in the mortar

a few seconds
of a cat’s night passage
trapped in fresh concrete

not quite ripe—
moon among the apricots

picking mistletoe
in the scrub oaks—no one
under it anywhere

after the tourists, grazing sheep



David Giacalone
CarrieAnn Thunell

bus station hobo—
four plastic seats
and a tabloid pillow

             on each dawn-frosted bench—
             a full sleeping bag

a young cop rousts
the trestle couple—
cooing pigeons

             in my pupils—
             the mattress
            in the storefront window

snores from the dumpster
at Executive Suites

         dreaming of Dickens
         on an empty belly—
        one more vagabond



CarrieAnn Thunell
Steven Thunell

snow morning
waking to the warmth
of his skin

tight stitches of the quilt—
my wife in my arms

the radio plays
Bach flute sonatas
a sparrow joins in

snow melt
from direct sun—
her mouth on mine

dawn streaks his tousled hair—
cold coffee on the bed stand

snow out of clouds
water within ice
this love



WALKING BUDDHA                                     
Francis Attard
Dick Pettit

Walking Buddha    with the right foot forward    where my journey ends
In my beginning                       Whitsun bells
Under the stars            light years away             light years in between
A life given to pleasure            leaves no fine momories
Waning moon         its emptying profile        praying mantis
A live earwig struggles          in the bottom of the bucket

Edge to a quest    on a wild-goose chase    not a wink of sleep
Home on the range        and bivouac in the canyon
Vagrant's wartime tales    celebrates his birthday    in the pub
A youthful audience        fascinated and appalled
New grammar grafts on   a game of chess   & talk of Greenpeace
Few in the club tonight       heads are intimate
Wrapped up in elections    name-calling headlines    & cartoons
They must toe the line       wherever we move it to
Back to front    in the fountain waters    reads PEACE
RAW hands and faces    marching into the wind
Santa's cheeks flushed    steading the mind   ballooned with spirits
Uncle Jim's jokes           keep the party up all night

Silent on the shelf    laughing clown with its back    to Darkness at Noon
Before you're hung               relieve yourself
Right weight, second     helping of gooseberry pie    good for the stomach
Conversation sinks        to schools and children's prowess
Long time to elapse    before the cicada's song    each year's turnout
The concert in her home-town       becomes a fiesta
Diaries furnish points    to ponder & mention    in letters home
Without a shirt              my PC keeps me warm
Pilgrim's back watched    the day's common prayer    at the Wailing Wall
A bright moon, and quiet      in Bethlehem tonight
Freshly-baked bread    breakfast makes me new friends    away from friends
The morning keeps fine    we do the walk to the shore

Tax assessor hears     of one silver coin found     inside a fish
A golden handshake             water rates go up
A nod is as good     as a wink, winnowing song    heard somewhere
The blackbird's call's intrusive    time for a coffee
Kind eyes         a shaved head among     the cherry blossom
Looking out for the one       not yet welcomed


Francis Attard
Dick Pettit

Two thousand & six -    my first Euro note    used for a bookmark
Should I send off    for the Back the Badger newsletter?
Scratch three    and win a glittering chance    in our new promotion!
Extra luggage weight          jade Hotei for a gift
The security guys    gather round, laugh    and hand it back
A mysterious bag         its moon & flowers

A new sculpture    going up in the square    represents eternity
Chalk cliffs rising          osprey climbs a wave
Two friends        newly kitted-out, striding    the springy turf
Hung in the museum      entitled Gazebo
Anything      can be a work of art      if you call it so
Stars dissolve in haze     snowdrops droop in a vase
Sunny leaves    hide the school party    in the sunken lane
One side of Galileo's moon    in orbit round the Earth
A gold sovereign   wafts behind the prices   on the business news
Ghost in a suit of armour    shadow falls weightless at dusk
I turn slowly     still nothing there    in the curving street
The quiet of epitaphs    adds history to a graveyard

Crime series    burial in confident hope    of the life eternal
A rider on a black horse      a balance in one hand
No resolutions!    let's zap someone...   pour encourager
Four seasons in all       time & change
A special song     for the choir's fiftieth year    with original numbers
Much scattered in books    dog-eared pages
A hint there    a longer reference here    we track them down
Tunnel's end in sight     light-drenched
"Nice to see you    leave the bottle here    and go right in."
Pale & pickled        a van Gogh moon
A long fork    stabs down into the jar    at the last onion
Bribe a silk tie       with its blue penguin print

Pretty, wind-scarfed    the sports-car driver    with urchin for guide
Jack next to the Queen        rest of the hand hidden
The tea and biscuits     are all finished     but no-one's leaving
Next day's agenda in mind     & a surprise for Friday
They do the flower-piece    with buckets coming in    to deck the hall
Pots of copper & bronze     intensify the colours



Jill Arthey
Sarah Barker
Margaret Dowdeswell
Sue Dunne
Alec Finlay
Linda France (Master)
Malcolm Green
Beth Knowles
Alicia Lester
Ros Normandale
Carole Reeves
Tom Richardson
Christine Taylor


Pink campion trembles
under the weight
of the hungry bee

   the mower's blades hum
   speckling the washing green

I fear seeing
your bright edge
through glass

   in my child's eye
   the fox walks on two legs

haggis, mashed tatties and neeps
but my fingers
still frozen

   a sliver of bone
   beneath hard earth

look how the flycatcher
always returns
to the same perch

   we never say goodbye
   just in case

strapped in tight
until the safety instructions
are understood

   what will he think?
   the car stinks of fish

a brain the size 
of Europe
she takes holidays there

   leave your boots by the door
   I'm dancing in the mud

different pines
shed their cones
at different times

   harvest is gravity
   what must be

gulls skirl and screech
their letters
across the sky

   not a word of Mandarin
   but she knows Chinese

to and fro
to and fro
the weft grows

   we brush our teeth
   in the freshet

clotted pastures
pale clouds –
Primula veris

   a scent catches
   fills us up.
a nijuuin renga for Midsummer's Day at Garden Station, Langley, 21 June 2006

Copyright © by Designated Authors in 2007.


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