JA Crider, I love that.

Here's my less-than-noble side:

The mag is trilingual. I proof in Somali, Bengali.
Regenerate, yes, but I wish they would read in Engali!

or -

The girls wear hijabs, but their jewellery comes from Prada;
the boys, in gang jackets, hang out by the mosque smoking shada.

(note: "shada" means "white" in Bengali. In Stepney there is comparatively little heroin. At least this means they aren't shooting up, and even when they do heroin they tend to smoke it. Silver - & white - linings!)



[This message has been edited by Katy Evans-Bush (edited January 03, 2005).]

By day, a hard-assed solicitor.
By night, the muse is my visitor.

By day, I rob Paul to pay Peter.
By night, I struggle with my meter.

By day, the Big Bang, dark matter, plasmas*,
By night, I write in my pajamas.


(I am assistant to an astrophysicist).


*plasmas - a fourth state of matter. (But you knew that already, didn't you?)

Twelve years ago I taught at uni,
now I must live on a puny
allowance from the government,
enough to cover half the rent
of a kennel for a dog
(or a bed-sit for a frog).
And now I've lost all my ambition
to find a job or give tuition
in any courses that remain
since they require but half a brain,
like "Hospitality" and "Nail-
technology", beyond the pale.
So even though I'm money poor
(which I admit's a dreadful bore)
I'm rich in time to spend on words
and walk the beach and watch the birds.




------------------
Mark Allinson

http://markallinson.netpublish.net/

I work with a student named Peter who studies
Film and Arts Management, we are good buddies
I take notes for him in his lectures because he
has suffered from birth from cerebral palsey
and cannot write fast though his mind's a Ferrarri
I should mention as well that he too is a starry-
eyed poet with a taste for the strange and surreal
he collects obscure knowledge with infinite zeal
it's a wonderful job and I will not pretend
that it's harder than learning about art with a friend




[This message has been edited by Alexander Grace (edited January 11, 2005).]

I am a little goldfish swimming round and round
a never ending pathway in a glass surround.
Somebody chose to take me from my natural bode
and make for me to travel long this endless road.

No type of life in circles, start unto the end,
or changes in my world that I can comprehend.
No splattering of raindrops break the water’s skin
or beaming shafts of sunlight touch upon my fin.

Sad orbital existence trapped within this hole
filled with cold tap water and called a goldfish bowl!


[This message has been edited by Diana B (edited January 18, 2005).]