Horses by Wyn

I was the typical horse-crazy girl. I especially love Palominos. As much as I begged my parents for a horse, I never got one. I worked at a boarding stable, and had friends with horses, so at least I got to spend time with them.

My high school graduation present was a motorcycle. Since then I have owned five. Currently I have a Moto Guzzi. In 2001 I found the opportunity to become a Motorcycle Safety Instructor. I am happy that I was able to share my joy with others in a way to make them safe.

But I still get a thrill every time I see a horse. 

My head, it's a room by Peter-T. Schulz (Ulli)

I want to stop being cold all the time

and yet to pretend to be warm.

What I feel like doing, is to lose something

and someone would grin and take my arm.

My head, it's a room,

in which two chairs stand.

I'm sitting on one of them

and on the other there is nobody to be seen ...

I want to stop carrying my head so high

that others can only see it from afar.

What I feel like doing, is to hear that friends say

with me, you could go to hell.

I want to stop knowing everything exactly

when I don't even know who bites whom in life.

What I feel like doing, is with someone between a pillow

guess three times what his name is in the back.

I want to stop looking for something

that I will probably never find

(maybe because it's on my neck.)

What I want is a pancake

and someone sitting across from me.

My head, it's a room ...

Dear Friend by YuJu

Dear friend,
it is so dark out here.
You have asked me
why I'm not gone to bed yet?

I'm happy that you have looked after me,
but
maybe you don't understand
and maybe you won't understand.
And you still don't understand
although I have explained it to you.

You just called me philosophy master.
Then you wanted me to go to sleep. 

Newcomers by Doreen

We are all newcomers on this ancient rock,
This granite shield of life and latitude.
Your way to roam with the herd, the seasons,
Watch for the signs,
Ours to impose our tribal order,
Dismembering the nation before.
A purple burble of hurt, written in blood and stone,
A history too painful to bear,
Atonement a dream.