Asia

She has such a giving way, she brings me Bollinger, on Christmas Day, what can we do alone, without repentance, in circumstances of our own, wine pours down my face, like a Christening, she fires the Angel cake, are we here or gone, she hasn't got a pot to piss in, we laugh at the unknown, choose to live or waste, cash our lives in richness, called upon to pray, her slumber a loving say, like rhythms of the sea, and the trips i'd made, my greatest days, awash in her forgiveness, are enough to celebrate, that beautiful spirit.

Alex

Can you remember the sea, the swell and the spray, our dance of Thebes, now the kids have flown, gone away, look after their own homes, we dance on the beach, at the end of the day, all our loving at Crosby, every part of the gloam, suddenly drained, and we're alone, you grab my feet, guide me through the play, my troubles ease, in the wind blown lee, I hold your face, forget the disease, catch horizons like these, you wonder why i pray, buy me chips and peas help me snort cocaine.

Andrea

Your house beyond the dunes, roses billow beneath the sky, will death bring you truth, all poets die intestate, however things may lie, throwing rages at their mates, even God is not immune, but there's a love inside, he won't be duped, fire burns in the grate, don't tell me how they cried, anchors bind my feet, it isn't me you fool, dying in the tide, don't you know he loves you, all our different blues, left hanging out to dry, all the lovers too, come to say toodle doo, their pillowed troubles light, a relieved and laughing crew, debts gone from their eyes.

Artie

By a train last night, i swore faithfully to Jesus, no more of that all right, a woman travelling to Naples, rocked me gently, and said everything's OK, she talked of a writer, called Andrea Camilleri, and kissed me quietly, I take photographs with lights, I see what others don't see, how the girls have died, when you know they're made, glamorous, perfect, serene, it makes you scared, to see them without life, don't mess those heeby jeebies, my soul strung out tight, beg help on St Anthony's quay. to a perfect nought, every part of thought, in their eyes amour, fresh linen and Eau de Cherie, the soul of lost hordes, all of them taught, by the garden door, of Saint Phillip Neri, I see the poor, cross Catherine Street

Alan

In any place, when you figure it, there's always the Old Lady, boiling washing bits, while a hoover gyrates, and all the new gadgets, that go with a living wage, her hands can fit, sitting here in outer space, the universal launderette, spins before my face, music from the Web, rolls across the port frame, hey man change the cassette, it'd be a cheek to say, man what is that, the earth hesitates, like it has a stitch, is not me whose afraid, that love doesn't exist, my wife and my mate, are to blame for this.

Anna

By the garden door, of Saint Phillip Neri, I saw the poor, cross Catherine Street, in their eyes amour, fresh linen and Eau de Cherie, the soul of lost hordes, some drive a Chevvy, they laugh as they walk, who needs a dime, when they are brought, to the Sultan's party, all of them taught, you don't need an inquiry, when all truth is caught, then buried, and every part of thought, has been divvied, to a perfect nought, please make them identify, the apertures, between moon and the sea.

Aoife

Sometimes with the spray, you just don't know, what you have to pay, the same with dough, and other times dates, don't know where it goes, just when you pray, you need a blow, another one turns up late, how they break my bones, think if I hesitate, I can get out alone, forget about finding a mate, sunlit hills come with stones, maybe I'll have to wait, need lightness not moans, wine to sip not gyrate, around crowded bars to atone, stating its a happy day, listening to song, a cigarette to create, an atmosphere of home.