Yolande

She hates the dull why, the pleadings for freedom, in sought after light, but what is she doing, making chocolate marina, painting yellow fascia’s, a drink of the wine, fire tunes her seasons, she will be fine, night boils her troubles, afternoon's her reason, it makes her days frozen, who knows the time, the walls of this prison, christened by a child, the kids will get through, regular as the heating, lilac as an evening tune, their faces awry, beneath a moon’s steeple, to chant without crying, all of love’s leavings.

Ximena

My security and hope, stretches out on lovely days, I know I’ll always cope, will go home soon, in a sun that flays, all the pockmarked yellow stone, down New York’s City slopes, can feel its rays, splice all of Brooklyn’s ropes, when evening’s blue, debt are paid, so many with their dues, do my parents know, how I pray, indifferent skies unfold, clouds chase by like schooners, who needs a quota of praise, I am not a loser, to wonder at my gains.

Wyona

Your tunes still trace, patterns on shimmering trees, from my blue pathways, add them to a shipwreck, a pirate roving sea, I’ll spill a golden confession, on swollen straits, I kick my heels, down cluttered seaways, can't feel my knees, but I still see dreams, you cry too easy, before a mass one Sunday, bread, wine victory, torn netting wood and sail, your privateer schemes, billow before me, like a broken creed, your howl is lovely.

Vicky

Dancers are ill at ease, with spiritual gain, it molests their release, with ladies, girls and women, I feel their technical gaze, am sweating like an oven, Our Lady holds the beam, on cold lit Sundays, no matter what they sing, my Ma is all scorn, lost within her ways, forgets what I adore, she'll invite herself along, chant without praise, my most precious songs, on trips to the sea , you won't wear grey, no need to argue, where love has no shame.

Una

Can you love me, your eyes like fireflies, in the way you sing, look at me, I whisper, they dance like satyrs, say what you think, you make believe, two bottles gone by, this Sunday on the lee, one side of the river, our thousand nights, made you quiver, dancing on the beach, exploring all you like, you buzz like a bee, do you want to live, and not ask why, this side of the Ocean, where we collide?

Tahlia

All these constant issues, that decry our needs, raise other burning issues, they hang like skeletons, with lip sticky greed, and ride in a peloton, standing by the beach, who says let it be, love’s just out of reach, it’s not particularly elegant, our frugal solidarity, has to share this dance, a pocket full of tissues, lay scattered at your feet, a manifest delicious, we waltz to earthly creeds, between our shore and distance, salty tears run free.,

Stanley

Was I worth that night at Faro, a lighthouse stripes the beach, smells of sardines from boats, at the raging café’, I smell rain and sea, warm against the beams, when she eats alone , I bring her tea, her eyes fill with stone, she wants to dance and dream, but her opacity, splits me like lightning, cuts me to the bone, above my pressed dungarees, birds from Africa fly home, will she ever see, there’s always a happier reach, if you can just let it be, we’ll all be happy?