A Network of Writing and Community Publishers

October 2014


El Pasado / The Past

El Pasado

Hoy me encuentro debajo de la luna
a la vía Mound escuchando el sol
cuando el agua del río de Saugatuck
el hijo de nuestra sangre
que es el raíz de todos los cuerpos
de la gente noble pasado maltrato
salvaje y criminal como homicidio justificado
por El Capitán Colón
porque no hay gloria en la sangre de tus manos
el himno llena al mundo
el residente de la tierra
cada tiempo es más viejo
a la voz brava
levantando la alma del Caribe
Oscar López Rivera
el viento sobre el agua
cuando no miran a tu cara
nuestra justicia nace fuera de la pared
como un cielo libre
cuando mil voces en el otro lado de la frontera
de Ferguson y Staten Island
un día con grito
y reclamar paz para Michael Brown y Eric Garner
nuestra voz la otra vez a justicia

The Past

Today I am under the moon
under the way of Mound listening to the sun
when the waters of the Saugatuck River
the son of our blood
which is the root of all bodies of
noble people mistreated in the past
savage and criminal justifiable homicide
by Captain Columbus
because there is no glory in the blood of your hands
the hymn fills the world
the resident of the land
each time is older
the brave voice
lifting the soul of the Caribbean
Oscar López Rivera
the wind on the water
when they look at your face
our justice is born outside the wall
as a free sky
when a thousand voices on the other side of the frontier
Ferguson and Staten Island one day we will cry
and reclaim peace for Michael Brown and Eric Garner
our voice again toward justice

© Carlos Raúl Dufflar 9/13/14
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective

Under the haunting (of a long memory)

the broken hearts tell the story
from the windows and the corners

on the streets are memories of the lost lives
crying for justice after the reddening blood

the blue shadows will not linger
under the haunting of a long memory

© 29 october 2014 Ángel L. Martínez
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective


The house two doors down is up for sale
and folk who view come out quite pale
some have clearly been heard to wail
“It's haunted”

Are you sure it is the house?
It might be a mouse
Or even a louse?

No! Not that
Not near my flat
Perish the thought
I tell you there's nought
of lice
there's even no mice
as up goes the price
of this house

now much vaunted
'cause it's haunted ...

Dave Chambers
Newham Writers Workshop


Haunted dreams,
haunted sleepless nights.
Mistakes and deeds
under magnifying glass.
Something cracks
in the wall,
quick footsteps
in the alley.
Is it a face
in the glass door?
Wind just knocked
a chair outside,
or was it a giant's breath?
Knock, knock
on the outer wall.
It is a loose wire.
Something is coming
to the kitchen...
An orange cat
came for his
midnight snack.
Another sleepless night.

Marie Neumann


As the night of halloween looms
There is a sense of impending doom
Pumpkins carved out into ghoulish patterns
They are lit up, by a lantern
As hordes of excited children fill our streets
Knocking on doors and crying trick or treat
Dressed up in costumes as scarey creatures
Mythical creatures with unmistakable features
Witches with long noses and pointed black hats
They ride on broomsticks with their well known black cats
skeletons vampires ghosts and ghouls
Anyone who believes in them are fools
So let them have their fun tonight
But don't let them give you a fright
After all its the night of halloween
Just enjoy it and take in the scene

By Elizabeth Jury


In my house I heard the rustle of her dress.
I turned and saw a woman in mourning.

I had felt her watching;
waited long for the terror of the moment.
Our eyes met: hers were dark, familiar,
full of sorrow - she was so near
I could almost feel the fabric of her dress.

I had often sensed that I would see her,
walking in the fields, at a distance,
her white face turned away,
her black dress other-worldly,
or sometimes I had feared
that I would see her on a dark night
at the window looking in.

But now to see her, so close to me,
my heart stopped; I knew those eyes,
the stare enough to chill me,
the words she could not speak.

Louise Glasscoe


Haunted -
By the memory
Of a tender caress.
The moistness
Of loving lips,
The knowing smile.
The sweetest kiss.
By the last embrace.
Lasting pain
There's still a trace.
Haunted by a love that's lost.
A life that might have been;
But never was.



Harrowed and haunted
afraid yet undaunted
slowly they mounted
to the head of the stair

surrounded by ghouls
with ice in their souls
with fear in their hearts
and snow in their hair

With wolves and a demon
and a skeletal seaman
scar-faced, one-eyed
with a dark deadly stare

padding and prowling
and silently howling
the ghosts of their madness
awaited them there

They knelt on the stones
as their fear filled their bones
their nerves and their muscles
and their doom drew them near

harrowed and haunted
afraid yet undaunted
though wracked with confusion
and a terror severe

A horrifying silence
blood-red with violence
stifled their hope
drawing ever more near

to the harrowed and haunted
(the afraid yet undaunted)
the wise and the wayward
the seen and the seer

In glades twilight shaded
the Darkness paraded
its cloak of intention
to cover the land

The Dark One so strong
crushed a beautiful song
til it gave up its beauty
and died in his hand

and the harrowed and haunted
(afraid yet undaunted)
sought deep in their spirits
for ways to understand

why the Dark and its demons
and the skeletal seaman
wanted love outlawed
and all freedom banned

And the stair cracked and fell
took them all down to hell
where they learned all souls haunt
themselves, nothing more

and hell (just like heaven)
is a form of obsession
and life and life only
is worth living for

Beyond harrowing and haunting
is a world without wanting -
equality and love
And peace evermore

No ghost, ghoul or demon
no skeletal seaman –
just a giant soul swimming
in a sea with no shore

Roy Birch
Stevenage Survivors

Haunted late in the morning dark

Haunted from the waters
Running thru stones intolerable lakes
Brooks trickle down into wetland bog grasses
Haunted tremendous tree's where
Men and women hung from green branches
Haunted struck down lightening and thunder fire
Eyes killed killed off into ashes series
Justice the skeleton of the tree
Standing alone and rabbits pulled out of hats
Hauntings passers in the night owl call
Where travellers freeze in the frozen
Dead of night lights may flicker
In the mountain district distance
Where ambushed assassins executed
The innocent betrayed by rifles in the haunted shot  at glancing
Penetrate the death still hauntingly
Those not born yet
From the soups souls bowl
Rusted bowls there haunts the souls
From heart to toe nails
Perishable in the haunted sous wounds
Wooden spoons that haunted the mouths of hunger

John Joseph Sheehy


I look in the mirror and see my dad;
It happens more often as I get older,
I look more like him above the shoulder.
I look at my daughter and see my dad.
Wherever I look I seem to be spooked;
I find it daunting, he seems to be haunting.
When I search for my mum my dad seems to come.
It isn’t funny, I owed him money
Which took him so many years to earn
And which we both knew I’d never return.
I didn’t see him frequently;
He’d be up with the lark and home after dark.
We’d pass on the stairs, I was always polite;
I’d wish him good morning and good night.
He always worked hard for his family,
His one responsibility.
I took advantage, contemptuously
And enjoyed myself, tremendously.
Now he’s always there whenever I stare
And he won’t go away; he’s making me pay!

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers

The Ghost Who Lives in the Toilet

The ghost residing in my loo
Wipes my bottom when I’ve been.
A hand emerges from the bowl
And makes sure I am nice and clean.

If other people use the seat
My phantom likes to have some fun.
He’ll wait until they’re comfortable
And then he’ll pinch them on the bum.

I don’t know when the ghost arrived
And I don’t know how long he’ll stay.
Perhaps he must be exorcised
If I want him to go away.

But I find it convenient
To have him living down the hole.
It saves on toilet paper
Which just stays upon the roll.

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers

The Slatted Barn

Who could say who would be next?
For three actresses had previously fled the scene
The directors cry of ‘it was only an owl’
Had fallen on closed and deafened ears.
Seeking solace in the slatted barn
They had vanished forever in its depth
Replicating the saga of the bloody murder
Where no trace of blood was ever found.
A story that was all consuming to the author
And a hook for an ambitious, but blasé producer
After all actresses desperate for stardom were
Ten - a - penny and expendable. Granted, it is a
Very strange place, so achingly cold and damp
But perfect and atmospheric for the big screen.
They all felt it; the bone chilling silence
Words, learnt by rote, unspoken from painted lips
Her declaration of returning love left hanging
Halted by the sudden opaqueness of her lover’s eyes.
A guttural scream echoed in the stillness of the set
A scream, no owl’s throat could ever express.
Breaking out of character, she fled from the lights,
Into the swallowing darkness of the slatted barn.

Footnote - from a Fed Workshop (Derek Smith)

Jan Hedger


You would miss I'm sure, the cold sweat, the frisson
of being the other side of insubstantial, the post mortem
when you test the solidity of doors and windows,
the viability of your perception. But then again,
you can't miss what you don't understand,
incomprehension will still sit on the shoulder,
flit through the walls you build between self and other.

Bruce Barnes
Friend of TheFed


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