The End

Old banger, two door, fading red –

hardly the wheels of high-end crime.

Reports of a shooter.

Unmarked cars track along the M5

and when he comes off at 18

and heads off down the Portbury Hundred

the ARVs shoot past, slow down,

box him in,

causing him to stop.

The guns get out,

walk over to his window,

execute the arrest

shots fired – ten.

One way only.

The end.

© Richard Devereux

Man dead after police 'surround car and shoot into it' near Bristol

Richard Devereux belongs to Bristol Stanza. His main themes are Greece, people and politics. His collection Billtells his grandfather’s tale - Private Everyman in Greece in WW1.

The World Doesn't Sparkle

The world doesn’t  sparkle
But we do
With each passing tragedy
Our love shows through
Although they maybe millions of miles away
Or close by
We give them a tender smile
Or message to get them through

The world doesn’t sparkle
But we do
Evil wants to  find a home
But we shine through

© David Mellor

US firefighters shot dead in 'ambush' in New York state

David was born in Liverpool in 1964. He left school with nothing, rummaged around various dead end jobs, then back to college and uni. In his 20s he first discovered poetry, starting writing and performing and has done so ever since. I has lived on the Wirral for the past 8 years.

Old News

Tragedy blossoms. Eyes glaze. Ears close.

Another school shooting 

in another small American town.

Death is an itch that some must scratch

with guns or knives or bombs.

With loathing - for classmates, parents, Mondays, self.

In Britain, we sigh,

remembering Hungerford, Cumbria, Dunblane.

© Linda Cosgriff 2012

Shooting in Newtown,Connecticut

Bio: Linda Cosgriff is an Open University graduate. Her poems have been published in ezines, magazines, various collections, and as art. Read Linda’s humorous take on life here

Alone-ness

creates and severs

the tethers that hold us together.

Yesterday, a man told me

his father was driven crazy

by doctors locking him

in a dark room for thirty days --

He touched no one for thirty days;

                never could touch anyone again,

                only pee in the corners of their rooms

                as if the lights were still off.

Today, a man told me

his son was shot by a different man –

in the neck – with many others

who did not expect smoke

or flashes illuminating smoke

in a dark room full… full…full.

This other man’s friends could not be located.

This other man’s family was far away;

                he could not touch anyone with

                his fingers so busy on booby-traps;

                writing long sentences with no periods,

                as if in a cabin out in the woods --

                nowhere near a pond.

© E R Olsen

Profile: Aurora cinema shooting suspect James Holmes

E R Olsen writes poetry and practices law in Nevada, in the U.S., where he lives with his wife and four children. His poems have appeared in several U.S. journals, most recently in Viking.