A Network of Writing and Community Publishers


March 2017


loss/distance 1

A walk up Beacon Hill in the Cemetery of the Evergreens is a short walk over the street from cacophony of cars and “Els.”* Where loss is not forgotten, yet deeply set among the wind-blown trees. You can feel, standing atop rolling greens embracing the old Canarsee Indian trail, that your beloved is situated at the center of all that matters.

loss/distance 2

Walk into the depths of the Evergreens, only houses to remind of big-city near, is a monument in peace, dedicated to a peace that is to be forever linked to justice. Here is the place to bear witness to memory of over 100 years – and in memory of those lives stolen in the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire.

*Elevated train lines as they are called in New York City

© Ángel L. Martínez 3 may 17
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective

International Women’s Day

And in honor of International Women’s Day
Day and night to overcome in order to survive
Through the motorway of the world
To plant a red rose

© Carlos Raúl Dufflar 3/8/17
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective


In 1973, I lost twins
They miscarried, but further along the line
It was obvious they had been unjustly treated
Inside my womb...
and they were not embryo's
They were my babies.
It is 2017, but as each anniversary wakes in my mind
I remember, I remember
'Sam & Angel' -
Attached my drawing that found its way from my mind...
Many years later
I researched and found 
It was obviously an ectopic birth,
But I was told 
I was not pregnant when they tried a 'path lab' test
after tablets were given...
I was 'naive' at the time
But you put trust first don't you?
I will never forget...
My children now know they
Would have had siblings 
This is my loss...
My loss that could have taken my life...
For even when 26 days of getting 
Weaker and weaker, 
And trauma, the negative response given
At 'the path lab' seemed to speak to the doctor,
Alone - and still I cried inside for help,
For hospital but it didn't come - 
And then my baby was born -
A miscarriage, and then an operation
The other cleaned from my womb.

With this I write 
No-one can act with 100% 
Knowledge and so this many
Years later - I forgive.
I also give R.I.P. to the doctor
Concerned, I found out just by accident
In conversation -
She had passed.

'Sam and Angel' - I love you still 
R.I.P. beautiful ones...

(C) Josie Lawson
All Right Reserved

The Loss of My Mother

It has taken me 46 years to write about this terrible loss.
My mum's name was Jessica Mary Ferguson, formally King and born Sandell.

She died in New End Hospital, a wing of The Royal Free in London NW3.
My mum was in Keats ward for just seven days before she died in September 1969.

She had terminal lung cancer, but not a single person told me of this.
Each day I phoned; they said she was "as well as could be expected." and that I could visit her on Sunday as my shift work
from Monday to Saturday was during visiting hours.

I carried her out of our house in my arms: she was so light.
We went to the hospital and they told me the strict visiting hours.  I went before work to leave new sippers and sweets but they did no tell me she was about to die, and I could not visit her till visiting hours....when I was at work.

We had no phone in those days and on Sunday at 2am a police officer came to my house with a message from NEW END to say my Mother was in an induced coma.

She was in a darkened single room with a mask on her face.
I walked into the oxygen cylinder which made the staff run in to see if I had collapsed.

I held my mother's hand for many hours, but she could not let me know that she knew I had come, at last, to see her.
She must have spent seven days thinking I had left her to end her last few days... quite alone.

There was no one else to visit her and no one was told she was about to die. 

If any one sees this who was alive at that time and in that hospital in Keats ward  London NW3, September 1969, perhaps they may have talked with her, perhaps they could make contact through this Network, please.

I went into shock and was given a week off work, but a deep depression came over me and I could not re visit that hospital.
Even now, 46 years later it is distressing to mention that place.

My state of mind recovered as I kept working very hard and my twin sons: Matthew and Mark, were born seven months later.

My mother may have known I was there, but not knowing this myself, I feel every day of my life that I failed her.

The thought of her being so very alone during her last days of her life....is a pain so deep inside me.

I ask her to forgive me, every day.

David King   aged 80


She died young
Another statistic,
Hounded by
The sadistic
Brought into
Her life
By political man,
And his dogma
Of the mean.

She was very ill
It was terminal
The cancer
Was incurable.
She told them so,
They did not care
The machine
Kept running
Over her.

They said she was
Fit to go
She must have been
The machine
Said so.
She was one of thousands
Treated this way
By the machine
Every day.

The saddest thing
About this whole
Sorry tale
Is that the machine
Would definitely fail
Without the input
From the people, we
Pay to work
At the DWP.

They who carry out
The master's commands,
Then deny that
They have
Blood on their hands.

I think it's called
The Nuremberg Plea,
"You cannot
Go blaming me."

"I was only
Carrying out orders
As our armies
Crossed all those borders,
And killed,
And killed,
And killed again,
We were, all of us,
Very obedient men."

Tom Higgins 05/03/2014

Artwork by John Sheehy



The paint swept across the easel
Frenetic, wild, and out of control
Imagining a canvas there…
There being none;
Its tears fell to the floor
Pooling into a cascade of colour
On the cold, stone tiles
Of the deserted artists studio

For Amanda - Always missed

Jan Hedger


My shell is my home
but without table and chairs
Just a cool empty space
in which to lay my head
Do I get pleasure from being
afloat in the salty sea?
Do I gleefully scoff as I escape
the trawler man’s nets?
Do I find comfort in clinging
steadfastly to the rocks?
Do I get a thrill from being the first
in the race to reach the shore?
Do I feel sorrow or sadness
at the end of my life?
No, I feel deep joy at the
squeal of delight
Of a girl in a pink summers dress
as she picks up the shell
Off the beach, from where
I left it behind 

Jan Hedger

Friends; Always

She sent me a feather
From her gossamer wings
Knowing I needed comfort
Belief and her support
As always

My heart skipped a beat
As I picked up the feather 
And held it soft in my hand
As I will hold the memory of her
With me, always

Such a gentle feather
Like the gentlest of smiles
That adorned her pretty face
I’ll smile with you, and
For you, always

I imagine the feather
Dipped in paint of purest blue
Bringing life to a blank canvas
At the touch of her hand
An artist, always

A pure white downy feather
From the breast of a bird
Flying free in the sky
The wonder of nature loved by her
And by me, always

This feather brings these words
A tribute to her faith 
In me and in my poetry
Amanda, my inspiration

Jan Hedger

After Passing of Him...

Who am I now?
I am no longer a wife
Yes, I wear the token of marriage
Except now there isn’t a hand to hold.

I am still addressed as Mrs,
Even though, there isn’t a Mr 
Anymore – but there was once.
Only yesterday
I knew who I was.

How one day, or just
A moment, in fact
Can strip half of you

Jan Hedger


We’d laughed and we’d cried.
Life went on when she died
But not as before
That was for sure.
For she’d taken our hearts,
Oh! Not all just a part.
But the part that was left,
Was completely bereft
Of the joy we once had,
Leaving us feeling sad.
Now thirty odd years on
Though that bit’s still gone
We’ve learned to survive
Get on with our lives.
Sometimes when I’m alone
An old memory hits home 
I hear inside me.”If only!”
Perhaps I’d not feel this lonely.

By Jim White


in the summer sun
a dropped ice lolly
sates the earth
and dies

Noam Livne

Ash Wednesday Lent Growth 

February is gone out with pancakes 
In applesauce and lemon drops
Alluvium left behind rejected by the flood 
Needles haystacks spilled milk
Spilled  beans lost words 
Loss of memories memory lost
Long gone souls ashes soil 
Down steps deeper loss further down
St David's Day in Ash Wednesday
Ashes memories loss lost spirit
Prison cells jail tears loss of time 
Stopped talking wondering upsets
Wandering loss gamble lost 
Giving resistance resistant given

John Joseph Sheehy


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