You were taller than i thought,

wearing a mustard jumper

which was odd – i’d

imagined this, why would

i choose that shade?

We sat in an over-themed pub

perched high on bar stools,

sharing the table with strangers

who pressed up close

and butted in.

You were animated,

your words expanding

blowsy like the decor, despite

my continuing to read

the newspaper.

Yet it was you who ultimately

detached, without goodbye,

and i glanced up from the

small ads to see an

empty space.

Sandie Zand – 11th November 2015


In amber I lie…


In amber I lie

Translucent filter of

Shadow-world shapes

I cannot know –

            I cannot know –

How tightly held am I

In timeless stasis

Here preserved

Here petrified

In amber I lie

                              ~ Sandie Zand, May 2014

Intentional indifference…

Stumbled across this poem quite accidentally and loved it… not quite as appropriate in today’s stifling heat as it may have been in yesterday’s early morning rain, but still – perhaps it’ll help folk cool down.

The Rainrain

All night the sound had

come back again,

and again falls

this quiet, persistent rain.


What am I to myself

that must be remembered,

insisted upon

so often? Is it


that never the ease,

even the hardness,

of rain falling

will have for me


something other than this,

something not so insistent—

am I to be locked in this

final uneasiness.


Love, if you love me,

lie next to me.

Be for me, like rain,

the getting out


of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-

lust of intentional indifference.

Be wet

with a decent happiness.


Robert Creeley, “The Rain” from Selected Poems of Robert Creeley.

I wonder if romance is dead

kiss        I wonder if romance is dead
        Or if it’s merely sleeping
        If somewhere in the
        Depths of time
        It slumbers
        For a
        To shake the torpor
        Dust the heart
        Type the script
        Prepare to start
        Adopt a stance
        A smile
        A glance
        A gentle kiss
        I miss
        I miss
        These things now seem so fleeting.
         I wonder if romance is dead
        Or if it’s merely sleeping?
                                                         ~ Sandie Zand, Oct 2012