The Call - John Buchanan

Ragged granite sentinels tear at the hearts of the huge Atlantic rollers driven in by the gale.
White horses charge towards the shore, spume flying from their manes.
A thunderous roar heralds their approach, and then, the deep muffled thump as the foaming mass explodes against the stone wall.
Spray is hurled into the churning grey sky before falling back in a sheet which covers the road and the wall, again and again.

The mournful sound of the fog horn breaks through the shroud of fog which lingers on the morn.
Water chuckles gleefully in the douit which runs beside the narrow lane as it flows to the sea.
The Fog burns off, Primrose, Bluebell and Buttercup bejewel the hedgerow and ducklings paddle in the shallow water.
Birdsong fills the quiet valley as migrant and resident alike celebrate new life in harmony.

Narrow paths thread through the undergrowth, clinging to the rugged cliffs.
Campion, Thrift and Gorse abound, their colours, a riot amongst the myriad of greens which clothe the steep slopes.
Here and there outcrops of granite adorned with splashes of Lichen erupt from the Bracken to bask in the warm sun.
Heady scents, vibrant colours, the sound and taste of the sea and the touch of the warm sun assail the senses.

The Jewels of the hedgerows and cliffs have faded as the bracken and trees rust.
Now they bear treasures of a different kind as Blackberry, Rosehip and Sloe are picked by beak and hand alike.
Fallen leaves litter the paths and lanes and smoke from the bonfires drifts on the cool air.
Hedgehog, Field Mouse and the distant church bell celebrate the festival of harvest as the nights close in.

There I stand in the busy airport, eyes closed, listening.
From far away, across the ocean, I hear a call,
A call I once was told would come;
For no matter where I roam, Sarnia always calls me home.

John Carré Buchanan

The Factory - John Buchanan

The tall Echium sways in the breeze.
A myriad of purple trumpets call
summoning the tiger striped workforce
with a silent blast of colour and scent.

Starting from the base the workers ascend,
diligently probing each nectary as they pass.
Their wings hum briefly as they move on
practicing allogamy as they go.

From the cap they drop on to the breeze
and fly onward; to the next tower.
They don’t punch in and out
the bright sun’s course tracks their day.

Elsewhere the plant’s red and black security staff,
Keep a watchful eye, removing;
‘All Pubescent Hoodlum Intending Disrupting Supply’,
By eating them.

Here in nature’s factory
everyone plays their part;
and the humble poet watching
marvels at the art.

John Buchanan

Tree Mooning - Robert Platts

A golden memory from a flotilla holiday with my wife and two young daughters years ago. "Tree mooning" so named after I described said eveing to a friend who enjoys his red wine and who commented -

"Being with family, hic - now that's the tree mooning of life" - Robert.

Tree Mooning - Robert Platts

We left the beach and dusty road
... And scrambled up the rock strewn hill
The moon was full, as were our hearts
And all around was still

Below and far, calm spread the sea,
reflecting heaven silver blue.
Such a scene lent ecstasy
to an already heady brew

That warm night, with family close,
our memories stamped in tune,
and we howled, Oh! my how we howled
at that huge, yellow moon.

Next morning as we woke at peace,
light streaming through our portholes bright,
caught voices from our neighbour's boat;
“Gosh! Did you hear those wolves last night? '

Robert Platts

What A Traffic System - Denise Bishop

A Humourous poem. No Diction, meant to be read as it is written with a Guernsey accent Caw La! (Not many of us left now Eh!) Just a bit of a giggle. - Denise

What A Traffic System - Denise Bishop

Caw, The Traffic over 'ere, it's getting really bad,
There's more cars on the roads than we thought we'd 'ever 'ave.
you 'ave to set out early, Cause there's always a delay,
... But the driver's they get aggressive, But no-one will give way.

Then theres temporary traffic lights, A temporary surface down,
But where's the Bloney workmen, Ahh Standing looking round.
If you want to go to town to get your shopping done,
It's guaranteed a que of cars that goes on and on and on.

If you want a parking space, it seems you wait for days,
Surely there's an answer! there Must be other ways.
There's State debates about this problem,
But All they do is Talk,

Well I know the answer me!, BAN the cars we'll walk.

Denise Bishop

As Sure As I'll Ever Be - Aindre Reece-sheerin

Can you see what I can’t see
Could you be me if I were thee
What is it that you do there
Could you still do it if you were over here

Why is 2 times 2 four
Why does it rhyme with a knocking at the door
Or falling on the floor
Or being like a bird to Soar

Where am I who am I Why
Am I really innately shy
Just like a pig in a sty
Why can’t I take wing and fly

Why is ‘it’ so
Where should 'i' go –now
What is next
What was then
Where is now
Who am I why

Aindre Reece-sheerin

Haiku on Cat - Eleen Davis

I first heard of the haiku through Westonbirt Arboretum's autumn competition this year and find them fascinating to work on.

Here are some haiku musings on our ancient cat... - Eileen

Four Haiku on an Ancient Cat - Eileen Davis


Embers are glowing.
Outside, trees bend in the wind;
... Contented cat purrs...


Seed-filled pigeon strolls,
Calculating cat pounces -
but misses her tea!


Too cold to catch mice,
She miaows at the window,
Expecting dinner!


Avoiding the flood,
Cautious cat crossing the road
gets splashed by a car!

Eileen Davis

La Sentinelle - Aindre Reece-sheerin

I penned this for my friend Karla Rumens having watched her give a Eulogy for her late mammy the other day.

La Sentinelle - Aindre Reece-sheerin

There she stands – stark and alone yet surrounded
Head slightly bowed but stoic and strong but still confounded
Not for the first time either has she taken this stance
... She takes hold of her faith now and taps into her roots

She is a Child, A Parent, Sister and Wife
Yet alone and strong she stands
Her beloved lies beside her in a small coffin – she too was once a wife
Now La Sentinelle draws breath to talk about the end of life

More erect now, fighting to maintain control
The virtues of a mother, wife and friend to extol
Almost choking, pausing to steady the nerve
In front of family, priest and friends must she now serve

Saving the tears, lest they burn her face
Remembering in her mammy’s hand
She placed a duster and lace
Pays tribute and bids, 'fare thee well' as she moves on in grace

A loved one, a mother, a daughter, a sister too
Stands tall La Sentinelle Being strong for me and you
Speaking words of great praise as so peals the bell
The Stalwart, The holder, La Sentinelle

Aindre Reece-sheerin

Inscrutable Death - Andrew Barham

Just sits there
In the corner
By the ceiling
In the antiseptic isolation
Of the Neurological Ward,
For that final moment
To spring
Propel itself from its perch up there
And grasp its prey
Utterly lacking compassion
As alien
And incomprehensible
As any predator
Dreamed up by Science Fiction …

Andrew Barham

Four Than-Bauks - Andrew Barham

A Than-Bauk, conventionally a witty saying or epigram, is a three line "climbing rhyme" poem of Burmese origin. Each line has four syllables. The rhyme is on the fourth syllable of the first line, the third syllable of the second line, and the second syllable of the third line.

Four Than-Bauks - Andrew Barham


Sky, blue and clear
The Sun here comes
As near as thee


The Raven calls
Old Spruce falls down
One tall tree dies


Religious fear
Sends a tear down
Your serious face


Begrimed with mud
Clotting blood on
A good man's hands

Andrew Barham

Guess Who? - Hugo Russell

I am larger than a tiger
I am as furry as a kitten
But with a mouth full of daggers
And a paw full of knives.
I have the stealth of a soldier
And I am a mean, lean killing machine.
I could eat a horse or more likely a zebra.
I live in a pride.
Call me proud.
Look up to the stars
And roar out Leo.

Hugo Russell age 11

The Lighthouse - Hugo Russell

I can see the rocky outline of the high craggy tall cliffs
I can hear the crash of the stormy green watery waves
I can taste the salty deep sea below
I can smell the briny tangled seaweed
And touch the tips of seagull’s wings.
I can see the bobbing fishing boats
I can hear the wild raging wind howling.
I can almost taste raw rotten fish
I can smell old rusty brown iron
And touch the twinkling stars above
I can see my safe light brightly flashing
I can hear a distant loud foghorn
I can taste the bitter green seaweed
I can smell hot sweet milky coffee
And I can touch the rocks below me.

Hugo Russell aged 11

This is not a moralistic poem - Marianna Pliakou

The cherry tree carries the seeds of hope.
We look for it when most in need.
It caresses our eyes and speaks the language of our heart.
The last one we forgot. Now it’s all about the language of dry logic.
Its sterilized vocabulary dictates our lives.
Lives of attempted dry logic and linear narratives.
Progressive success is the dangling carrot.
But here we are, looking for the cherry tree.
Because our eyes are aching, our dehydrated consciousness suffers.
But we won’t find it in the forest, nor in the shape of a tree.
Because the cherry tree is the “other one”.
The one we chose to ignore, the marginalized one, pushed outside our micro-world.
The one we need to approach again.
The one that carries the seeds of our decency.

Marianna Pliakou

The Sea - Denise Bishop

I live on a lovely little Island,
Surrounded by the Sea.
... gorgeous views to die for,
When you can see the sea.

Cliff walks you can amble,
with stunning scenery.
I find it so uplifting,
you can always see the sea.

Downhill is Petit Bot,
engulfed by aging trees.
Captured by the sunset
yet still can see the sea.

In land I reach the hilltop,
a beautiful place to be.
Wherever I am standing,
I can always see the sea.

In fact I could write forever
Our beautiful Sarnia Cherie
A benefit of Island life,
You can always see the sea.

Denise Bishop

Passion Killers - Denise Bishop

Forget the diction in this Humourous poem, written as it should be spoken in the the Guernsey accent Caw La! Better when it is heard spoken out loud La! I have placed the punctuation in my particular way, it's to help you read it as I intended. Hope you have a giggle. - Denise

Passion Killers - Denise Bishop

Caw! The weather! It's been cold,
Perhaps it's me that growing old.
Damme joir! My fingers! they go blue,
... But you youngsters, it's alright for you.

Thermals! is what I've got on.
Ahh, it was different when I was young,
Lacy frilly underwear, Hot or cold weather and I didn't care
Caw! When I think back to 'eres of old,
and when I didn't feel the cold

My 'Usband, he used to look at me,
But with thermals on, there's nothing to see.
Then we tucks up in our bed, Nothing Happen's, nothings said,
So I look in the mirror at me, and I dream of how we used to be.

Caw La! The Passion! It's gone!
It's cause of these Thermals I've got on.
Well, the morning comes we've 'ad our rest,
And I see's Jo,standing there, In his Vest.
Well! What A sight I 'ave to see, But Ahhhhhhh,
He's got Thermals! Just like me.

Denise Bishop

Competition Winner - January 2012
Sardines in Portugal - Andrew Barham

Sardines in Portugal,
Sardines in the Sea
Sardines on the beach
Going straight into my tummy!

Sardines massing
Sardines in a school
Sardines chased by dolphins
Because Sardines really rule!

Sardines in Cornwall?
Sardines in a boat
Sardines are pilchards
Sliding down my throat!

Andrew Barham

Competition Winner - December 2011
Blue (A Poem For The Blue Planet) - Kathy Figueroa

It's in the blood
And in the air
It's something that's found
In the mountains
And the seas
It's part of us
And all that breathes
Humanity seeks it
In outer space
And rejoices when we've
Found a trace
'A riddle,' you might say
'Well, this is odd
Does it involve a Higher Power
Often known as, 'God'?
'Yes,' the Torah
Old Testament and Koran agree
In an example of rare unity
At the beginning of Creation
It was given form
And from it, all of life was born
Here is an additional clue
It's given this planet a lovely hue
Of blue
Acqua, agua, amanzi, eau
Immerk, ma'im, maji, maya, mizu, pani, rano
Shui, usun, vada, voda, wasser, water... H2O

Kathy Figueroa

Competition - November 2011

Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin

Strange Iconic Sentinels
Stetching up towards the scattered light from a grey, cloud filled sky
You are the accepted symbol of our fallen men and women of wars current gone and by
Those perceived gallant lads and lasses, who gave their lives that we may celebrate our right
Our right to demonstrate against such loss of life and the futility of war

You who will never grow old, you whom we shall remember in each and every setting sun
You who fought and died in that which you believe was right
Whether victor or vanquished you fought your fight Never perhaps knowing the enemy in your sight

So with your crimson tops stretch on toward the light
Take with you their souls for us into the glorious light
Ask them to teach us how to live and not to fight
Ask them to show that only God has might and right

With your thin yet strong if at times tenuous grip
Show us that life is like the water you sip
Bitter and sweet, stormy and cold
But like those lost to us you will never grow old

So whether in flanders field or on erins green isle
If lost at sea and unknown no marker where you lay
Rise up my beauties and reach for the sky
Take heart, draw breath, for you need no longer sigh
As in God’s , and arms do you lie
comforted and free unlike this mortal coil

Aindre Reece-sheerin

Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin

Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few
Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro
Where we lay night and day waiting for the whistle blow - time to go once more into the breech
You wanna take some time but we’re still here still waiting waiting for the call

You say we’ll never grow old and you won’t forget us in the years and days
Can’t you smell it – its in the air war simply isn’t fair
I wanna take time time time
Just let me look on your face once more
Then close the door to forever more

Where once we stood too – where once we fought side by side
now Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro

The flashing’s not lightening, the silence is frightening
The Charge, as the whistles blow and the poppies flow to and fro
Its time to go, its time to go, time to go, time to go time to goooooooo

Aindre Reece-sheerin

Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin

There are no heroes no winners in WAR

The Blood, the mud the mutilated bodies and corpses
The stench in air, smoke filled and rotting flesh laying in their own excrement
Unable to be moved as yet for fear of mines

The smell of vomit on my clothes and in my hair
as I help those wounded to the butcher’s table
guillotined in anger and for what
only to die shorter and in even more pain

The screams of men once proud and steadfast
The whinny of horses, shell shocked and bloodied
The upheaval of earth, the stagnation of movement

The deafening of silence following each futile charge and barrage
The body strewn razor wire, lumps of humanity splattered and chopped here and there
The screech of the whistles commanding another onslaught against the scything guns

Quietude now, as it calls the all clear
Remains now only pain and hunger the last vestige of fear
Family pictures, mementos of loved one’s not near

Lest ye not forget me, remember what I gave and no I was not ‘Brave’
But I did what I believed right, and I took to the fight
as did he and she who brought the war to me

as then the poppies grow from my blood which did once flow
lest ye forget, we gave our lives to the futility of war
in the fervent hope, that you may never see what we saw

forget us not, stay ye firm and strong
hold our memories true and think sometimes of me
for we gave our lives believing that one day you would be free

Aindre Reece-sheerin

Ode to Fallen Heroes - John Buchanan

Their ranks did not sway
like rows of wheat.
They did all our nation asked
and then; gave more.

They that were so brave,
faced the onslaught,
like poppies in a storm;
resilient to the end.

We that survive them
owe a debt we cannot pay,
save to enjoy the freedoms;
each and every day.

If you see a scarlet flash;
on hedgerow, field, or path
pause a while, give thanks
and their memory will last.

John Buchanan

Remembrance - John Buchanan

The bugle calls ‘Last Post’
Silence descends
Some heads bow in prayer
Others gaze into the distance.

The wind stirred leaves
Swirl around the group
as if they’re the souls
Of the fallen - visiting.

In our minds
thoughts turn to those
who stood in harm’s way;
and met it.

Fallen heroes,
those buried with honour
at home and overseas
have names carved in stone.

Then there are the others;
those that did not die
but made it home with injuries
to body, mind or soul.

For all of them are changed
As a result of war
Either living with injuries
Or guilt or even what they saw.

When the Bugle calls ‘Rouse’
heads lift with tear in eye
The ‘grateful’ Nation reminded
Of the debt they owe and why.

John Buchanan

Heroes - John Buchanan

As the tempest’s mighty gusts cross the fields,
the wheat swirls and dances
like shoals of fish in the oceans deep.
- Amidst the tumult their ranks did not sway.

Among the golden wheat scarlet poppies stand tall,
delicate petals flap violently,
each gust threatens to disrobe the flower.
- Their ranks stood tall and proud against the storm.

Clouds churn in the sky as the storm rages
scudding across the heavens,
carried unwillingly by the mighty wind.
- Our heroes stood and fought for freedom.

The wheat in the fields lies flattened,
poppies are battered and torn,
storm clouds and heroes departed.
- Whilst the names that bought freedom live on.

Carved on stone memorials
erected in village squares.
For much of the year forgotten
- save for, by those left behind.

Some have their souls forsaken;
others gave bodies or minds,
many have images that haunt them
- the rest of their God given lives?

In November poppies are worn
As a roll that grows longer is read.
The nation remembers their sacrifice
- one they’re making yet.

So between Last Post and Rouse
As we silently mark our respect
Remember it’s not just the departed
- to whom the Nation’s in debt.

John Buchanan

Nature’s Ode to Man - Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin

I grieved as war murdered my children and I,
Bombs tore up the soil and blackened the sky.
Men lay silent and still atop barren terrain;
never before have I witnessed such pain.

I opened the sky. Drenched the ground with my tears
to quench each man’s thirst; wash away all his fears.
I was tempted to punish, for killing my land,
but stopped when I saw a man hold out his hand
to his brother. The hopeful love to which you all cling
is why I instructed the birds still, to sing.
From each death I offer a symbol of life,
to remember the battle, the cost and the strife.
To mirror man’s debt I have painted them red;
scattered seeds o’er dirt as a colourful bed.
While mortals are fleeting - through time I can soar -
and cover with bloom those who sleep evermore.

The loss of the earth was a loss of life, too.
In growing this flower I shall mourn with you.

Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin

Untitled - Martyn Legg

Poppies bloom, upon such peaceful, tortured land
As memories, seeded by some grieving hand
Blood red, showing us the pain and loss
Of war, and all its dross
So we a wiser people turn to face the day
In which to learn to love instead of hate.

Martyn Legg

Remember - Denise Bishop

Today I wore my Poppy, I wore it with such pride,
Remembering those before us, who fought for us and died.
Then there were the families of those that did not come back home,
Today if things go wrong for us, we have the cheek to moan.
Remember those who fought for us during that awful war,
Remember all those Soldiers, what they were fighting for.
This poem may be quite simple, but Oh so very true.
They fought for me, for us, for him, for her and also You.
They died for us our future, they did not live to see,
I keep a Poppy in my car as a stark reminder to me.
Imagine walking through a mine field, wandering where to tread.,
A Soldiers mind working overtime, his thoughts are filled with dread.
My Poppy is with me always, from January until December.
Every time I look at it, with the greatest respect
I Remember.

Denise Bishop

Competition - October 2011

Canyon Deep - Linda Kelly

Clouds drifting layering floors beneath the canyon deep deep down on and on
Drifting to the end ground below smooth awakening spirit o’my love depths unexplained
I do not want to rise thee heart of mine I am happy to lay beneath your surface
Knowing at my side there is strength of sheer rock to protect whilst
I can drift with could and give my heart my every breathe
Soft gentle breathe amongst the cloud all grace I am within your heart
O’drifting cloud o’rock of height o’love we have within
Take us both upon your calm and enwrapped with love within
Soft soft cloud drifting by a floor to stand upon now tall and proud
For us both hearts entwined to lay again resting pausing
To feel the stone so hard o’my love we touch the face of life and it brings
Then let the cloud drift us away to sail beneath its wing.

Linda Kelly

Black Mountains - Kirstie Tostevin

When you observe thunder or feel in your bones
the rumbling of terror and menace of stone,
try to think wisely; whatever you do
don’t look through the mist at what’s calling to you.

It echoes such silence and plays on your fears,
a mass of emotion which brings you to tears.
The dread that consumes you when you are alone;
black mountains where Terror has carved out his throne.

Under veil we are safe; fickle thoughts clot our head
but beyond, wasted cliffs weight our hearts down instead.
Nameless unease manifests in the gloom
like a column of darkness in majesty’s tomb.

Obscurity heightens but cloaks terrors’ pall,
when weak try your best not to let this veil fall.
If foolishly given a foothold it would
try to fuel the immoral and hinder the good.

Kirstie Tostevin

Competition - September 2011

Star Cat - Paul Fletcher

Gazing at Star.
Relection of who he is.
The wonder of what we are.
Star Cat Gazes.
His image of the stars is his ownself.
His eye a bauble of Creation.
His pupil a galaxy.
His green saucer his inner eye through which he flies.
His whiskers tenous threads of energy to space.
His nose scents and scans the scant empty space.
He longs to leap into those forgotten stars.
He is wired for space.
And in time his evolution will take him there.

Paul Fletcher

Cats Eyes - John Carré Buchanan

He owns the night
that owns the light.
Tapetum Lucidum
and Retina do their work.
Twice seen light
makes night, light;
and light night
means dinner.

John Carré Buchanan

Competition - August 2011

Untitled - Martyn Legg

The child’s path is held within the father’s hands
Never does he plan for us to wander
Never does he plan for us to fall
Yet we stumble through misdirection
Stagger from uphill climbs
We so readily step away from guidance
Pursuing darkened routes toward pain and loss
Standing so alone we talk down the very one that would have lead us
Blindly stepping out on unknown paths
Arrogantly leaping towards the darker way
Struggling to be free of all embrace.

Martyn Legg

Hopefullness - Yasmin Mariess

I see hope in those toes,
a journey that starts with one (baby) step.
Will they climb mountains? Who knows. These toes.
Maybe just the mundane, stuff of everyday.
Ballet lessons? Kicking a football? Sand between the toes?
Who knows.
Sweet things, baby toes.

Yasmin Mariess

Perfect Ten ~ For Elanor - John Buchanan

The proud father’s stands,
holding in his hands
a new-born child.
He tickles her feet
with manicured nail
forging a love that’ll never fail.

Fingers dwarf her little feet,
Perfectly formed and complete
Ten tiny toes
In two neat rows
Where they’ll carry her
No one knows.

He runs a finger from toe to heel,
she lets out a tiny squeal
and curls her toes.
In years to come she’ll not know
He holds the moment in his mind
when his love for her was first enshrined,

John Buchanan

Untitled - Jayne Le Couilliard

I made you, I hold you.
My hands so big, your feet so small,
I'm here to hold you whenever you fall.
But for now I just
want to hold you

Jayne Le Couilliard

Competition - May 2011

Death’s Call - Janinka Diverio

Shadowy light and
Water, engulf me
Ease my pain

The dagger pierced
As the cry of the cowering beast echoes
And resonates faintly into the pitter, patter of the rain, now gone
Faded into the dusk evermore

Water, rippling, coat me, hold me
Cloak me, be my balm, cool and calm

Trees shelter me, keep me
Shade me under your branches long
With wisdom, wounded eye
After all these years, old now with salty tears

Tireless age
Pillars, statuesque, elders, protecting
Frozen in time
Take me now
Tow my line

Janinka Diverio

Torn Trees - John Buchanan;

The silence – is deafening.
...No birdsong,
no fish jumping,
not even a chirping cricket.

The ‘Great One’ stands defeated
It’s magnificent head severed
in a blinding flash
as Zeus vented his rage.

A few trees remain,
buttressed against the onslaught,
they stand tall,
discussing terms with the clouds.

Stunted stumps of others
cut down in their prime
Jut from the surface
as if hewn by a mighty scythe.

A long breath is drawn.
Water flows across the battlefield
Gently clearing away
evidence of the fray.

Reflections lie motionless
too exhausted to shimmer
on the still water’s surface.
Waiting for a different light.

John Buchanan

Competition Winner - April 2011
The Colours of Guernsey - Martyn Legg

Stone upon stone, life upon life
We lie with each other and lie to each other
Below ground, above ground
We are built upon each other
Clothed by previous lives
Purged by ancient prayers
Without each other we are dust
Together we are a wall of humanity
Reaching, trusting, falling, failing
Mote flecks of impassioned lives
Ethereal glimpses of dreams gone by
Stone upon stone, hope upon hope
Standing tall against the flood of life…

Martyn Legg

Competition Winner- February 2011
Confusion or Clarity? - Lester Queripel

 ...It's a push me pull you kind of world.
I seem to spend most of it in a whirl.
I feel like a Yo Yo on a string.
I spend a lifetime wondering where I've been.
Pull me up. Put me down.
Spin me round and round and round.
Pulled this way and that.
Am I a cricket ball or a cricket bat?
A rollercoaster ride. A conveyor belt.
You play your hand with the cards you're dealt.
But who pulls the strings?
Can you see the puppeteer?
Where's the magician?
Did he disappear?
Open the window, close the door.
What are rules and regulations really for?
I thought I was confused.
But now I'm not so sure.

Lester Queripel

Competition - January 2011
The Bubble - John Buchanan

Born of a child’s soft breath
caught in a soap filled hoop.
I dance on the gentle breeze
any edge is instant death.

More vibrant than a stained glass window
and far more delicate;
my quickly changing surface
caught by this photo in limbo.

When I burst, no shards will remain.
I’ll expire in a blink,
tiny droplets will dance on the floor
leaving only the hint of a stain.

John Carré Buchanan

Competition - December 2010
Janinka Diverio

December 2010 - 1st Janinka Diverio, 2nd Paul G Fletcher.

Paused - Janinka Diverio

Washed up, eroded
by the course of, the force of...
...the caressing game of life

Once stirred, once a battle against the odds
Ogre-like in its stature –

- like you

A failed plight, dead of night
A colossus so frail, strewn masts and a shredded sail
Now simply a faintly image, my friend –

- like you

Ghostly clouds embody the secrets of a hoped-for land
of a kind face, a warm heart and a stroke of your hand

Deathly silent, tears shed,
what lies now on the ocean bed?

Paused -
so quiet
Embers littered midst drift woods and lives

Caused -
what caused
shattered hopes, quashed spirits and severed ties

- by you?

Janinka Diverio

Bleak - Paul Fletcher

... A past dance
With a sea devil

Lost souls
Found upon a new land
Separated from their heaven

Sky blends
Into starscapes
Hidden above
The fronds of
Loose leafed cloud

Nimble cumulated raindrops
Froth down into the blue expanse

I imagine children playing
Lives out as drowned men
From a far culture
I toy with the idea they are them
Lived again
Laughing on the warm sand
On a gorgeous August day

Watching the stars
For their return.

Paul Fletcher

Pony & Rider - Jenny Hamon

Image Source - Jenny Hamon

I was inspired to write these poems as I have been a volunteer and Group instructor with our local group for many years.

I have had experience of the wonderful bond between horse and rider and the theraputic value for people with all sorts of disabilities or problems.

The Riding for the Disabled Pony - Jenny Hamon

My eyes are yours for just a while,
My legs, so strong, will walk a mile.
To share my world, my precious friend,
My gift of movement I will lend.

I give to you my body power,
For you to use for just an hour.
To shake off shackles and to see
A whole new world because of me.

Patiently I’ll stand and wait.
I’ll carry you with steady gait.
I’ll keep you safe and carefree here.
In me you have a friend so dear.

In my dreams we’ll gallop free,
Along the beach, beside the sea.
Your wheels are gone, there is no need.
Just you and me, your trusty steed.

Jenny Hamon

The Disabled Rider

I feel your muscles, hear your hooves,
With joy of liberating moves.
You give me time and space to see
Your world that never restricts me.

A glimpse of life that’s free and able,
Instead of living with a label.
Upon your back I am just “me”,
A rider who is young and free.

But do not think that I despair,
While riding on my chestnut mare.
I shake the shackles from my feet,
And for that hour my life’s complete.

A precious gift you leave with me,
You give me life and help me see
There is a world that I can share
Despite me “living” in a chair.

Jenny Hamon

I Want To Go To Heaven In A Rocket - Kate Lee

I want to go to heaven in a rocket,
No not Apollo 17 or the Space Shuttle.
Nothing that grand. Just my ashes in
the grand finale bonfire night rocket.
You know the type, loud and sparkly
Colourful, with a thousand stars exploding
Overhead, necks strained upwards
With “Oohs” and “Aaghs” from family & friends
Below, as off to heaven I spectacularly go!

Kate Lee

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